The Defection Gambit
by Tristan Palmgren
Summary: In this Freespace 2 adaptation, two conspiring pilots infiltrate the GTVA and NTF, working together to uncover the secret behind the ETAK project. Unfinished, but fairly lengthy as is.
1. Prologue

Freespace 2  
by Tristan Palmgren  
charpalm@mediaone.net  
  
---  
  
Prologue:  
The Battle of Deneb  
  
---  
  
A mistake here could and would be fatal. Lieutenant J.G. Douglas Remmington   
didn't care. He had had enough of this. Enough of war.  
  
Back on Earth, before he had signed up with the GTI in the Terran-Vasudan War,   
he had read stories where the hero of the tale was often convulsed with the horror of   
killing another human, one whom he had never met. That the war he fought was not his   
war, but the war of his elders. They were those old, decrepit politicians and generals who   
sat in occluded conference rooms and decided how many of their young men they would   
send to their deaths. This conflict would inevitably drive the protagonist to madness.  
  
This war wasn't like that.  
  
Here, a different kind of madness had consumed Douglas Remmington. The   
madness of loneliness and hostility, but above all, the madness of utter and damning   
helplessness.  
  
A song, a relic from the previous century, was blaring in his flight headphones, in   
an effort Remmington had set up to distract himself. Damn humanity, he thought. It can   
survive without me. If it can't... then it doesn't deserve to live.  
  
An interesting place to finally snap, he noted with reluctant irony. Nobody would   
expect it here. Nobody would expect it at all, as he had been careful not to let any signs   
of his madness out into the realm of notice.  
  
His modified Hercules-class heavy fighter ceased to maneuver as Remmington   
dropped the controls. The fighter continued heading directly past its assigned waypoint.   
Dead ahead was the Orion-class Terran Destroyer whose name escaped Remmington.  
  
Remmington decided he didn't care if his fighter collided against the massive hull   
of the friendly destroyer. It would be a spectacular and unexpected blaze. And it would   
be an end. The technicians would assume it had been a technical breakdown inside the   
fighter, not a mental inside the pilot.  
  
One of his wingmen's inquiring voices was audible over the soundtrack.   
Remmington turned up the volume of the music to completely drown out the distraction.  
  
Behind the Orion-class Destroyer was visible the ultimate threat against humanity.   
The Shivan Super Destroyer, designation Lucifer. Remmington gazed at it peacefully, and   
could detect the faint engine traces of faraway enemy starfighters closing on his wing's   
position.  
  
He could remember his final briefing before the mission embarked. The Lucifer,   
equipped with shields impervious to weapons fire, and an extremely powerful version of   
the standard Shivan Beam Cannon aptly designated the Superlaser, was virtually   
unstoppable. And it was headed directly towards Delta Serpentis, where the Jump Node   
to Earth was located.  
  
The Lucifer had run through the gauntlet of blockades the allied forces had erected   
with ease. No weapon either the GTI or the Vasudan's PVN had seemed capable of   
penetrating the shields of that beast. The Shivan's versatile beam cannon had mercilessly   
cut down every capital-scale ship that had challenged that mammoth monstrosity. And   
Remmington could sense that the Orion destroyer directly ahead was about to join the list   
of casualties. The Shivans. the Destroyers. would once again slaughter thousands in a   
single, horrifyingly efficient stroke.  
  
An oddly appropriate song, Remmington reflected. He couldn't remember where   
he had first heard it, but it had stuck with him.  
  
The prow of the Lucifer began to light up with a hellish glow. The beam cannon   
was powering up. Remmington's fighter continued forward, helpless.  
  
The streams of light and energy gathering in the Lucifer seemed to reach its   
climax, and a vast, quarter-kilometer diameter beam shot out from it. It sunk into the hull   
of the Orion cruiser at light-speed. The impact point was invisible to Remmington due to   
the angle, but he could see fire and molten metal spew away. The entire cruiser seemed to   
shudder with the sudden violence, while the beam continued to ravenously chew through   
the ship.  
  
The other side of the destroyer, the side that was visible to Remmington, began to   
shine a bright, unnatural yellow.  
  
The beam burst through the opposite side, spraying the Hercules fighter with   
white-hot melted shrapnel and debris. The beam ripped through the vacuum close enough   
to Remmington's craft for him to feel the vibrations of the titanic amount of energy only   
meters away. A whine began to build up in his speakers, growing with intensity.  
  
The Orion destroyer, now with a hold punched cleanly though its center, began to   
gyrate out of control, spinning in slow motion away from the Lucifer, spewing molten   
metals and life-giving oxygen from the interior.  
  
The exterior lights on the destroyer blinked off.  
  
The high-frequency noise now drowned out the antique music, and Remmington   
could feel his eardrums shiver in angry protest. He ripped off the radio headphones, and   
threw them on the floor of the cockpit in a misdirected rage.  
  
The beam finally began to narrow as the energy it had in store had finally began to   
give out, until it puttered completely out of existence. The Lucifer began recharging its   
beam cannon, in preparation for the next shot.  
  
Remmington watched in silent sorrow as the defunct Orion destroyer continued to   
spin away. There was now nothing in front of him. Except for the Shivans.  
  
Half of his squadron had been stationed there. He would never see them again   
now, and he had not expected to. The destroyer had housed what he had called home for   
the past year. His family, his squad-mates, were where home had been.  
  
Remmington had tried to mentally prepare himself for this moment, the moment he   
knew was coming when he had heard that the cruiser, whose name he now remembered as   
the Athena, was being redirected to the Deneb system to join a task force bent on the   
destruction of the Lucifer. But mental preparation had not helped in this case, and his face   
distorted with helpless sorrow as a tear slipped down his face, and on to the control panel.  
  
Dying seemed the only thing left to do. But Remmington was determined to fight that  
fate for as long as possible.  
  
He pulled away from the rest of his wing at full throttle, and engaged his   
afterburners. At exactly 12 o'clock, the engine trails of three approaching Shivan   
starfighters, Manticore class, were visible.  
  
He began reciting a childhood chant he remembered from whenever there was a   
school-yard fight. He chanted it over and over, as if mocking the Shivan enemies who   
could not hear him.  
  
He squeezed the primary fire trigger. The Prometheus cannon underneath the   
fighter began spewing lethal green rays, that hit the shields of the lead fighter, weakening   
them. The Shivan began to pull away.  
  
He hit the afterburners again, and did something the Shivan did   
not expect, and kept heading directly towards it. He continued screaming the children's   
rhyme, releasing and repeated pulling against the firing trigger as if he was bombarding the   
Shivans with burst of his own immense rage.  
  
Remmington's fighter rammed the Shivan Manticore. The Shivan, would had little   
time to prepare for the blitzkrieg assault, went sailing away at a 90 degree angle.   
Remmington quickly recovered from the resulting spin. Half of his port engine had   
physically hit the Shivan, but at least it was still functional. However his hull integrity had   
been compromised.  
  
The Shivan Manticore collided with the Shivan fighter on its starboard side. The   
two fighters hulls smashed into each other, ramming their hulls until the two had meshed   
into one due to heat. The interlocking energy cores within the Shivan crafts were instantly   
overheated, and reacted with a violent energy release outwards. A ball of flame consumed   
both enemy fighters, and knocked the third of the wing far off course.  
  
Remmington exhaled sharply. He sighted the Lucifer, and turned his craft to face   
it. The Athena was not avenged. yet. "Next!" he shouted.  
  
If his headphones had been on Remmington and active, he would have heard his   
the frantic shout from one of his squad, "On your six! On your six!"  
  
The third Shivan Manticore fighter had spun around and was facing Remmington,   
a fact made dreadfully apparent when the fighter's lasers tore through the Hercules'   
shields.  
  
"Shit!" Remmington maneuvered his fighter sharply to port. The Manticore was   
still in pursuit, firing frantically. One shot scraped more hull off the side where   
Remmington had collided with the other fighter, and the Hercules began to shudder   
violently. His grip was almost thrown off the flight controls more than once.  
  
Remmington twisted his controls upwards, trying to shake the Manticore which   
remained obstinately on his tail. He slammed the rudder downwards again, violently   
changing the Herc's course, and he slipped past the Manticore's range of fire.   
Remmington knew he could pull this off.  
  
The Manticore fired a heat-seeking missile.  
  
Remmington had no time to prepare. The missile impacted the damaged port   
section of the Hercules, cleanly shearing off all the engines on that side.  
  
Remmington spun helplessly out of control towards the surface of the desolate   
planet below. The Manticore flew away calmly, and began concentrating on other Terran   
fighters.  
  
Remmington was listed as KIA.  
  
---  
  
From the surface of Deneb IV, in the gale-force wind that blew dust storms miles   
high, Douglas Remmington could just make out the last of the large ships jumping out of   
the system from his crashed fighter. He couldn't make out who had won, but he knew   
without a doubt that the Lucifer had once again emerged victorious, and was now headed   
towards the node in Delta Serpentis.  
  
This planet was cold, and savage, with no visible form of life, but it was habitable.   
Remmington set about making a wind shelter, and knew that he would never be rescued. 


	2. Dramatis Personae

  
Cast of Characters:  
  
  
Douglas Remmington: Male Pilot who served during the Great War. He was   
shipwrecked on a small moon nearby Deneb for over thirty-two years, until   
rescued by Richard McKnight.  
  
Richard McKnight: Primary Protagonist. Male Pilot who joined the GTVA   
fighter squadron shortly before the Shivan resurgence. Mysterious   
circumstances surrounding him, no prior record of existence.  
  
Lieutenant Louis Loukakas: Squadron Leader of the 53rd Fighter Regiment   
Hammerheads. Served onboard the GTD Bastion during the Great War, now   
resides with his squadron on the GTD Aquataine.  
  
Admiral Petrarch: Commander of the GTD Aquataine, the newest Hecate-  
class Destroyer.  
  
Lieutenant J.G. Alice Jennifer McNeil: Flight Communications operator   
onboard the GTD Aquataine.  
  
Lieutenant J.G. Janice Fargo: Assistant Squadron Chief of the 53rd   
Hammerheads, and an Ace Pilot.  
  
Ensign Red Jefferson: Pilot who served in the 53rd Hammerheads during the   
Shivan Resurgence. Exhibits classic signs of extreme paranoia.  
  
Ensign Triton: Female Vasudan pilot who served with the 53rd   
Hammerheads in the GTVA Officer Exchange Program.  
  
Ensign Calvin Grissom: Idealistic pilot who signed onboard the 53rd   
Hammerheads. Often at odds with the pessimistic Jefferson.  
  
Admiral Aken Bosch: Leader of the Neo-Terran Front Insurrection. The   
Neo-Terran front, which opposes the alliance with the Vasudans, is   
entrenched in Sirius, Regulus, and Polaris.  
  
General Jason McNeil: Admiral Bosch's Project ETAK Leader in the Neo-  
Terran Front. Brother of the Alice McNeil.  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Recruitment Dreams

Chapter 1:  
Recruitment Dreams  
  
Thirty years after the Great War, at the beginning of the Neo-Terran Front's rebellion.  
  
---  
  
Life at the Vega Board of Recruitment was fairly dull, as one could expect from   
such a posting. Yet Sergeant J. P. Malloy would not give it up, as to do so would mean   
to give up Military Service, forever.  
  
It was the only remnant of Malloy's life that she could still hold on to. She had   
been here for over a decade now, each day unbearably like the last. But she could still   
wear that uniform with the rank stripes, and see her name under the GTVA's Active Duty   
roster. And to her, that was all the world.  
  
She had lost the use of both of her legs serving as a fighter pilot during the Great   
War. The War that had ended over thirty-two years ago, the Shivans having been   
vanquished for half a lifetime.  
  
She had been flying a Hercules-class fighter under Zeta squadron of the 42nd   
Hawks, and had just barely flown away from the fighter bay on the GTD Athena when the   
beam from the SD Lucifer had penetrated the destroyer's hull. The shrapnel from the   
explosion had hit her fighter, and sent her craft spinning away at speeds the fighter's   
artificial gravity could not compensate for. The acceleration had snapped the lower   
portion of her spine.  
  
It was these wartime memories that suddenly flooded uncomfortably back to her   
when two men approached her booth. One was fairly young, good health, dark hair and   
eyes, but the other. she couldn't place him, but he looked familiar somehow. He was   
also in fairly good health, although older with gray, disheveled hair and a wild look in his   
eyes. "How can I help you gentlemen?" she asked the same thing she asked everyone else.  
  
"I'd like to register for service in the GTVA military," the younger one said.  
  
"Welcome aboard," Malloy smiled, "I'll need your name, first and last."  
  
"Richard McKnight." Malloy asked him how he spelled that, and typed the name   
into the records database program.  
  
"I'm sorry, we don't have your name on record as a civilian, or anything at all."  
  
"I know, I'm from a frontier moon nearby Deneb. They don't always keep good   
records."  
  
"Okay, but you'll still have to see Ensign Palo over there for DNA   
identification."  
  
McKnight nodded, and strode in the direction that Malloy had indicated. The   
older man stepped forward. "And you, sir?" she asked.  
  
"I'd like to reenlist in the fighter pilot program."  
  
"Reenlist? Very well, and your name?"  
  
"Remmington. Douglas Remmington."  
  
She went through the routine of typing, and frowned at the database results. "The   
name Douglas Remmington is listed as KIA, sir. Perhaps."  
  
The man cut her off. "Sergeant Malloy, I am Douglas Remmington."  
  
Malloy raised her eyebrows in suspicion. Name-tags were not a part of the   
Military Uniform, so there could be no way for this man to know her name, unless...  
  
Her thoughts trailed off as she finally recognized the man before her.  
  
Her eyes widened.  
  
---  
  
"Okay, Richard McKnight, your DNA has been checked and you are cleared for   
recruitment. Can I ask we division you wish to apply for?"  
  
"Starfighter piloting."  
  
"Deathtraps, 'eh?" Ensign Palo finished entering the database additions.   
"Okay, McKnight, registration will be complete once you take the GTVA oath." He held   
out a book, it was a condensed version of the history of Terran space travel. "Repeat after   
me."  
  
Richard followed through with the motions, although secretly in his mind ignoring   
them.  
  
"Okay, there will be a shuttle leaving to the Space Facility Port MacArthur   
tomorrow at 0450. The GTVA will happily provide accommodations for you at the Hotel   
Sierra Vega until that time, if necessary."  
  
"I'd like that, thank you."  
  
"Okay, the reservations have been set up, and will be waiting for you when you   
arrive. You'll be on the GTVA Recruits level, which is floor 5. You'll be staying in room   
545."  
  
McKnight nodded, and turned away. He noted with interest when he was leaving   
that the desk Remmington had been at was abandoned; Malloy had deserted it. He   
suppressed a smile, and then left.  
  
---  
  
There was a knock at the door.  
  
Richard McKnight paused. He was reviewing again the history of this time.   
quite different then anything he was used to. Of course, he had gotten practice before, but   
it was astounding nonetheless. Virtually everything in this room was run by computer,   
down to the interactive entertainment video-feed channels.  
  
The knock come again. Richard glanced at the bed-side clock. 0134.  
  
He got up, and walked softly towards the door. "Who is it?" he asked.  
  
"It's your next-door neighbor," replied a sarcastic voice.  
  
Richard opened the door slowly, but did not let the man in by carefully blocking   
the entrance with his not-so-small body.  
  
The visitor seemed to be in a rather surly mood, he had dark rings under eyes   
shaded by disheveled brown hair. Richard could detect a noticeable hint of alcohol on his   
breath. He raised an eyebrow in inquiry.  
  
"Yeah, hey, the apartment that these Vasudan bastards gave me is dysfunctional.   
The can doesn't work. You mind if I use yours?"  
  
Richard did not budge.  
  
The man hesitated, then nodded as in silent accord with Richard. "Oh. I see. I   
know where your coming from. Here," he pulled something out of his jacket. "I'm not   
some jackass robber, I'm a recruit like you, pal." It was an ID card with his picture, and   
labeled "RED JEFFERSON - GTVA FIGHTER PILOT TRAINING - GTD   
AQUATAINE." It was nearly identical to Richard's own card.  
  
"Yeah, okay," Richard finally acceded, "it's over there."  
  
"I know. Hey, thanks, pal."  
Richard merely nodded, and shuffled back to his chair, and flipped the news   
programs back on, watching Jefferson carefully as he entered the washroom. He put his   
headphones back on, and returned to his program.  
  
"...the GTVA security council had no comment. And this just in, it turns out   
that the evacuation of Epsilon Pegasi was not in vain. As the Vasudan Emperor had   
predicted, Admiral Bosch's Neo-Terran Front launched an all-out attack against GTVA   
positions in that system. Casualties were not overt, they were a mere 3%, as Centaur   
Yukosi of the GVD Psamtik pulled his fighter wings into an early retreat after an   
overwhelming NTF force arrived through the Sirius jump node."  
  
"Regrettably, however, the GTVA did lose the GTCv Olympia to the NTF forces.   
The GTVA security council has authorized the deployment of the GTC Trinity and the   
GVCv Ishtai to the Epsilon Pegasi system. This system's condition has been changed   
from Friendly to Contested."  
  
"For Admiral Bosch's Neo-Terran Front, this represents yet another gain on the   
Civil War battlegrounds. The Neo-Terran Front is currently entrenched in Polaris,   
Regulus, and Sirius. NTF warships are also engaging GTVA military forces in the battle   
for Contested systems Deneb and Alpha Centauri."  
  
The voice changed from a female to a male. "The Neo-Terran Front continues to   
demand the Revocation of the Beta Aquilae Convention. The BETAC treaty centralized   
the GTVA as the sole authority in known space. The rebels are ignoring the entire treaty,   
and with that, among other things, the clause for the protection of civilians during   
wartime. The NTF has targeted both military and civilian vessels, especially those civilian   
vessels under Vasudan ownership. Civilian casualties of the Civil War are now listed at   
over 90,000, pinning NTF leaders with inescapable war crimes."  
  
"Critical to Bosch's ideology is the theoretical government of Neo-Terra, a utopian   
society where the lost grandeur of Earth will be restored. Neo-Terra would oppose any   
alliance with the Vasudans as the death warrant of the human race. Such flagrant racism   
has existed since the Great War forced our two peoples together, and the rebellion appears   
to be the sad result. TVN news time is 0141, or 21:23 Vasudan Galactic Time."  
  
Richard signed off the news video as the washroom door opened again. Red   
Jefferson closed the door silently behind him. "I can't thank you enough. what was your   
name?"  
  
"Richard McKnight."  
  
"Yeah, well, thanks, Richard. Hey, maybe we'll run into each other during   
training!"  
  
Richard said nothing.  
  
"Yeah, okay. see you around." And he was gone. Richard locked the door   
behind him, and finally turned out the lights.  
  
Time to sleep.  
  
---  
  
The civilian cruiser, registered under the name Siren's Call, floated swiftly through   
the vacuum. Douglas Remmington knew he was going to have an interesting job ahead of   
him.  
  
The Siren's Call, despite all outward appearances, was very heavily armed, and   
more then a match for even a Deimos-class warship. But it was armed with a kind of   
weaponry that Remmington had never seen nor heard of, not until he had met Richard   
McKnight.  
  
It had been, of course, Richard McKnight, and the Siren's Call that had finally   
rescued Remmington from the surface of Deneb's habitable moon, after thirty-two years of   
isolation and exile. And by rescuing Remmington, McKnight had charged him with a   
sacred trust for the responsibility of this ship. A responsibility Remmington was not   
prepared to sacrifice.  
  
Ahead lay the jump node to the Epsilon Pegasi system, a system now contested by the   
NTF. A sizable GTVA blockade was present at the node, preventing any ships from   
entering or leaving. Remmington sighed, and punched the record button on his chair, and   
began speaking.  
  
"This may be the final log of Lieutenant Junior Grade Douglas Scott Remmington,   
now retired. Ahead of us lies the GTVA blockade we must break. After I finish   
recording this log, I will eject a copy into the vacuum, in the hopes that if this ship is   
destroyed, those who find it will understand the reason behind my chaos." He sighed, and   
looked towards the node, illuminated in colorful computerized graphics on his screen.  
  
"The history of our tortured culture, the history of fact and date and battle, is something  
every dullard Alliance-wide can recount with ease. Truly understanding it, though, can only be  
achieved by living through it. The motives of my seeming treachery are rooted in this history,  
and it is just possible that only through understanding it can any sense be made of my betrayal."  
  
"Thirty-two years have passed since the Great War. The Shivans having been   
vanquished half a lifetime ago. And now we live in the mausoleum of history." He got   
up, and walked slowly towards the tactical screen, reflecting on the tales he had heard of   
the history he had missed during his exile. "The Elders call us the Lost Generation."  
  
"And yet, at some point we must remember what we are fighting for. Back when I   
was young. I remember. I remember Earth. I remember stories of a glorious   
civilization. Of cities with spires that reached the sun. Of a blue planet, with vast seas."  
  
"Of a people who created myths of humanity everlasting. Of children, who, when   
they looked into the embers of dying suns, saw the future of their race."  
  
Remmington paced back and forth, lost in thought, then cast his eyes once again   
on the blockade. "And they hurled themselves into the void of space with no fear."  
  
"They say our people have no future. Only a past filled with horror."   
Remmington's eyes flickered from ship to ship, from Terran to Vasudan and back. "And   
now, we forge a new Alliance."  
  
"A new Alliance to guard the tomb of space. For the hope that within its cold   
expanse we may find the salvation of our race."  
  
"It is for the hope of preserving this Alliance that I must now act against it. To   
future observers, if there are any, it was not my intent to defect my ship to the Neo-Terran   
Front. I cross this boundary for reasons other than the obvious. The history of the GTVA   
has already been written. now we must act to preserve it."  
  
He tapped the Stop Record button, and sat down in the closest chair. "Sergeant   
Malloy?" he asked.  
  
"Standing by."  
  
"Proceed towards the jump node. We will answer no transmissions, we will accept   
no orders. Tell all decks to brace for heavy damage." 


	4. The Asteroid Belt Fiasco

Chapter 2:  
The Asteroid Belt Fiasco  
  
---  
  
One thing Richard McKnight had learned about the GTVA fighter pilot training   
program was that it was not like the military boot camps he was used to. After shipping   
out to Port MacArthur, his group of trainees was transferred directly to the GTD   
Aquataine, the flagship of the 3rd fleet based in the Capella system. The Aquataine was   
among the first ever built of the new Hecate-class destroyers. Over two kilometers long   
and half a kilometer in height, the Aquataine boasted a crew of over 10,000.  
  
His training instructor, Lt. J.G. Janice Fargo, had surprisingly few rules. One of   
them was that the training simulators were good for finding a way around a cockpit, but   
nothing, absolutely nothing, matched actual field training. And thus, a large number of   
their exercises were performed around the Aquataine itself, with live fire.  
  
One of Fargo's rules was that "Everybody follow the rules." This was not   
as simple as it may sound, as just one of Fargo's rules could be just as harsh and damning   
as combat itself, and were seemingly posted for the express purpose of annoying cadets.   
Another such rule was "Everybody fights, everybody works." This meant not only did   
pilots risk their lives flying, but were also required to maintain and inspect their own   
equipment. In the GTVA there was no such thing as a squadron mechanic, and even in those   
old archaic outfits that sit had one, he didn't get to sit around in the cushy ship while   
the squadron went out fighting. Everybody fights.  
  
To McKnight, there was no problem with him administering care to his own   
equipment. He had been a mechanic at some point before he enlisted. However, the   
training squadron did have at least two fatalities due to mechanical or technical neglect.  
  
Another facet of Fargo's "Everybody fights, everybody works" was the less   
pleasant menial work. This meant kitchen duties, guard patrols, even the dreaded toilet   
duties. McKnight had shrugged and figured out that somebody had to do it, and the   
GTVA sure wasn't going to waste it's space and time in employing janitors to a military   
destroyer.  
  
When he looked back on his training, an event that he would remember above all   
else would be his first "real" flight outside the GTD Aquataine. After several weeks of   
simulator runs, he was familiar with the controls of the standard GTF fighters, and had   
even engaged his squadron mates in mock combat. But both he and his wing were   
completely unprepared for this mission.  
  
The call from Lieutenant Fargo had come at 0345. Groggily, he had switched on   
the intercom system and was told to be in the hangar bay in 10 minutes, fully flight-ready.   
Waiting for him there was a standard GTF Ulysses fighter. He had flown the Ulysses   
some times during training, but not often enough to become used to it. The Ulysses-type   
fighter was a Great War relic, but still capable of pumping out more speed and   
maneuverability then the new Hercules Mark II.  
  
"Okay, pilots, run through your pre-flight checklist while I give you your orders,"   
Fargo's voice announced through the communications system. "We will be flying as Alpha   
Wing of the mock squadron 999th Minnows. I will be designated Alpha 1, and you will   
obey each and every one of my commands. However, no matter what, remember to use   
your judgment."  
  
Richard could feel the cockpit begin to thrum with power. No simulator could   
match this. "Cadet McKnight, you will be designated Alpha 2. Flying Alpha 3 will be   
Cadet Bruner, and Alpha 4 is Cadet Jefferson." Richard nearly stopped in surprise, but   
managed to keep running standard diagnostics. The same Jefferson he had met in the   
hotel?  
  
Richard heard a faint whistling sound as the atmosphere was evacuated from the   
hangar bay. A whistling that faded away into nothing.  
  
"Began take-off procedure. Alpha squadron, trigger thrusters to leave dock on my   
mark." Directly ahead of Richard's fighter, the vast, cavernous hangar doors began to   
slide open. Whatever atmosphere was left in the bay flooded out into the vacuum.  
  
A single Ulysses fighter rose above the other assorted craft in the Aquataine's   
hanger. "Alpha 1, launching," Fargo reported. Her fighter soared out of the bay and into   
the void. "Alpha 2, mark." Richard triggered his vertical thrusters, and carefully soared   
out of the hangar.  
  
When he cleared the doors, a sudden rush hit him. This was real. This wasn't   
going to be controlled. Nothing in reality ever was. A mistake out here could not only   
kill him, but his squadron as well.  
  
In quick succession Fargo ordered "Alpha 3, mark! Alpha 4, mark!" All four   
fighters pulled around outside the Aquataine.  
  
It was the first time Richard had seen the Aquataine from the outside since he   
arrived on the shuttle. And then, it did not have the feeling of... life, and actuality that it   
had now.  
  
Simply put, the Aquataine was massive. Two kilometers long. A pilot could   
spend hours flying astride it, marveling at the technological wonders encased in its hull.   
Not any ship could earn the designation of Destroyer.  
  
The Official GTVA definition of a Destroyer-type vessel was a ship over a   
kilometer long, with a crew complement of a minimum of 7,000. Armor had to be well   
beyond class G, and at least six beam cannons, eight missile and flak turrets, and twelve   
laser ports also had to be present. Anything less would be classified as a Cruiser or   
Corvette.  
  
This meant that the Destroyers could stand up to virtually any threat. Almost   
nothing could pose a danger to its mammoth interior. Destroyer-class vessels were   
extremely difficult to find; the GTVA only had twenty of them, although two had recently   
defected to the Neo-Terran Front. Richard considered himself extremely lucky to be   
assigned to such an invincible symbol.  
  
The Aquataine was only the second destroyer of the Hecate class to be built. The   
original GTD Hecate was currently on assignment to exploration, but the Security council   
had recently cleared the Aquataine, and the rest of the 3rd fleet, for combat duty in the   
NTF contested systems. From what Richard had heard during the chatter at training, the   
Aquataine would arrive in the Deneb system.  
  
It was hard to feel alone out here, Richard noted. From what he had expected,   
being a starfighter pilot would give a person an undeniable feeling of loneliness and   
isolation during flight. That was difficult out here, however, where the Aquataine   
consumed nearly a third of the view.  
  
"Alpha wing, form up. Diamond pattern." As if by instinct, Richard guided his   
fighter until he was a mere 150 meters away from Fargo's port. Bruner pulled in to a   
nearly identical position on her starboard, while Jefferson remained a full 200 meters   
directly behind Fargo.  
  
The GTF Ulysses was a versatile ship, carved by engineers until it was very thin,   
almost a wedge shape, making it difficult for hostiles on the Ulysses's tail to maintain a   
weapon lock. The Ulysses was very broad horizontally, however, making attacks from   
above or below substantially easier. Two twin engines in the rear were illuminated by ion   
exhaust trailing from release tubes. It was these bright lights that Richard mentally fixed   
on to, keeping on eye on them to ensure he would remain in formation.  
  
"I'm transmitting the Aquataine's flight coordinates now. You should see a jump   
node 11 kilometers away at 12 o'clock." At the very same moment that Fargo said this,   
Richard's internal cockpit HUD created the green frame-work of a spherical polygon at   
the coordinates she had indicated.  
  
The sphere was created by the ship's internal computer and projected onto the   
cockpit window to show pilots a point where the normal laws of subspacial physics ceased   
to apply. A point where a starship's subspace drive, properly manipulated, would create a   
tear in the fabric of space, and join two points at once. Both points would have to be   
within the confines of one of these nodes.  
  
These points were only created in substance by the gradual erosion of space   
caused by a large gravitational field, such as a sun. At seemingly random positions in a   
given star system, the gravitational pull would cause substance to give away, creating   
these nodes. The nodes would allow a starship to reach another star. The Aquataine was   
headed directly towards it.  
  
"Okay, Minnows, listen up. Ahead is the jump node away from Capella,   
destination Vega. From Vega, the Aquataine could proceed easily to the Deneb system,   
where Command has requested our presence. The jump node ahead is not widely used,   
but it will get us to our destination in the shortest amount of time."  
  
"The reason, Cadets, that it is not widely used is because it exists within an   
asteroid field. The asteroids here, while not posing a significant threat to the Aquataine,   
may be able to cause minor damage to the Aquataine's hull. Because Admiral Petrarch did   
not see the need to sortie the actual fighter squadrons on the Aquataine, he has authorized   
our deployment as a training mission. I've picked the best and the brightest from the   
training group for this mission, and you people are it. Your objectives are to destroy any   
asteroid you see on a collision course with the Aquataine."  
  
"Oh, and pilots... do not miss your target and hit the Aquataine. If so much as a   
single burst from your cannons impacts the destroyer's hull, you will be relieved of your   
duties as a Cadet in the GTVA fighter pilot training program. This is a Live Fire Exercise.   
Understood?"  
  
Richard gave his assent, as did the other two pilots. Richard still could not discern   
if Alpha 4's voice was the same he had heard back on the hotel.  
  
"Good. Your onboard computers will calculate each asteroid's course. Asteroids   
on a collision course with the Aquataine will be illuminated on hull with white brackets.   
You may begin."  
  
His rear monitor projected and highlighted the positions of the target asteroids on   
Remmington's front window. Below each bracket was the distance from Richard's fighter,   
and the asteroid's distance from the Aquataine. Five were headed directly towards the   
prow of the Aquataine, though Richard's target was only 500 meters away from a   
collision.  
  
Alpha 3 cut in the communications system. "Shit, shit, they're too close! Alpha 1,   
the asteroids are too close!"  
  
"Dammit, what the hell's going on?" Fargo burst, "this isn't supposed to happen!   
Aquataine, those coordinates you gave us were bogus!"  
  
"Alpha wing, engage full burners and intercept those rocks!" Jefferson ordered. It   
was all the sign Richard needed. He triggered his afterburners, welcoming the unfamiliar   
acceleration, and soared alongside the Aquataine's hull towards his target.  
  
The first asteroid was now only 350 meters from the Aquataine's hull, while   
Richard was still 1150 meters away from interception. Out of laser range. He let up on   
his afterburners slightly, to let them recharge, before he activated another burst. The   
asteroid now 250 meters away from the Aquataine. It was now or never.  
  
The weapon load-out Richard's Ulysses had been assigned for this mission was not   
a very strong one. He was only armed with 2 Subach HL-7 lasers, one on each side of his   
prow, and no missiles. The Subach HL-7 was not the strongest weapon in the GTVA's   
arsenal, but it would have to do for this mission. He squeezed the trigger.  
  
Three duo-bursts of purple-tinted energy blasts screeched away from the Ulysses's   
cannons. The pure destructive force of the lasers shattered the asteroid, splitting it into   
three separate pieces, and spewing out a fiery inferno in all directions.  
  
What was left of the rock was then completely hidden by the flame now spewing   
from the center of the asteroid. Richard hit his burners again to escape being torn apart by   
the shock-wave sent away.  
  
That wasn't right, Richard knew. The asteroid should have just shattered, not   
literally vaporized so violently.  
  
"The ore in this asteroid reacts explosively with our weapons fire," Fargo said.   
"Learn to expect the unexpected, kids." Another nearby asteroid disappeared behind a   
shadow of fire, never to return, before the vacuum of space extinguished it.  
  
Richard acquired his next target, a larger asteroid 630 meters from a collision point   
on the Aquataine. Once again, Richard hit his burners, and fired five shots from his   
primary cannons into the rock before pulling away. The explosion nearly blinded his   
fighter's optical sensors, and the shock-wave rolled over the Ulysses, shaking the fighter   
with an uncomfortable low frequency rumbling.  
  
A nearby asteroid smashed through the Aquataine's hull, piercing it in several   
places, but it did not breach any life-support chambers. The explosion nearly   
overwhelmed Alpha 4's fighter with molten shrapnel. "Shit!" he yelled.  
  
"Aquataine," Fargo said urgently, "if you want to avoid major damage to your sub-  
systems, I suggest you get your gunners on station to assist us, now! Minnows, let's stay   
concentrated."  
  
The debris that was now littering the void had knocked another asteroid on a   
collision course with the rear of the Aquataine, near the destroyer's engine exhaust tubes.   
"My computer says we have another eight rocks heading directly towards the Aquataine.   
Intercept, and shoot to destroy. Disregard my previous orders about striking the   
Aquataine with your lasers. If you can destroy one of those rocks, a few grazes will not   
hurt the Aquataine. Alpha 2, kill that asteroid approaching the engines."  
  
Richard pulled away from the primary conflict, and engaged full burners towards   
the destroyer's rear. He did not have a direct line of sight on his target due to the angle, as   
the Aquataine itself blocked his shot. He whipped his fighter haphazardly around the   
corner, and found himself on the destroyer's rear quadrant.  
  
It went unspoken how important it was for Richard to destroy this one asteroid. If   
the explosive material in that rock were to travel into one of the exhaust tubes, the damage   
to the Aquataine would be far more then "minor." The worst-case scenario was that the   
engines on the ship would be forced to shut-down, leaving the Aquataine adrift in an   
extremely hostile environment.  
  
Funny, Richard thought. All this hype about how much power was present in the   
Aquataine, and how it was nearly invincible, and suddenly the destroyer finds itself   
threatened by the most innocent of natural occurrences, an asteroid field.  
  
As the Ulysses round the corner, Richard could just barely see through the   
Aquataine's ion exhaust to see a large, dark mass approaching it. The exhaust was   
blinding... the fighter's optical sensors were now completely blinded by the bright pillars of   
energy streaming away from the destroyer, leaving Richard to operate by his eyes alone.   
By his own inexperienced judgment, Richard extrapolated that was still out of laser range.   
He would have to enter the stream of ion exhaust itself to acquire a solid lock. Damn.  
  
The Ulysses entered the ion stream. The pure, negative energy washing over the   
hull of the ship began to cause it to rattle, filling Richard's eardrums with an uncomfortable   
low frequency roar. He resisted the impulse to shield his eyes from the storm that   
engulfed him. The shields on the Ulysses began to flutter in and out of existence as the   
cockpit around him began screaming warnings as a result of the engine wash.  
  
Richard snapped off five shots at the asteroid, then soared away from the engines.   
He couldn't tell if he had hit, the only indication that anything at all had happened was that   
the exhaust trail was suddenly brighter for an instant. He pulled back towards the main   
conflict, near the Aquataine's prow, eyes and ears throbbing with pain.  
  
Fargo sounded nervous in his headphones. "Aquataine, where the hell are those   
gunners?"  
  
An asteroid that had slipped past Alpha 3 impacted with the hull of the destroyer,   
shattering the already abused metal. This time, the explosion went directly through one of   
the ship's internal life-support chambers. Richard only saw a plume of oxygen seep away   
from the flames before his ship streaked past. He was assaulted visually with three more   
explosions Alpha wing continued to struggle. Bruner, flying Alpha 3, began to panic.  
"The damage these asteroids inflict isn't minor! The density isn't light! Somebody   
made a goddamn mistake! Somebody made a big goddamn mistake!"  
  
"Aquataine, report! Where the hell are those gunners, Dammit?!"  
  
"This is the Aquataine," a female voice said. "Emergency bulkheads have sealed.   
Pilots, our weapons subsystem has taken damage. We need at least two minutes to get it   
online."  
  
"Who is this? I only have trainees out here, and we need help, NOW!" Fargo   
vaporized another asteroid. Richard locked another in his sights, and shattered it with his   
Subach, escaping before the shock-wave could claim him.  
  
"This is Lieutenant Alice McNeil, flight communications operator operating with   
the authority of Admiral Petrarch. Minnows, we are currently scrambling Beta wing of   
the 107th Ravens. They will assist you. After Beta wing launches, we will also sortie   
Kappa and Delta. Until then we need you."  
  
Two more asteroids blazed away in silent destruction. Richard targeted another   
asteroid, and swooped in dangerously close to the Aquataine's hull, full burners engaged.  
  
"Careful, Alpha 2," Fargo cautioned.  
  
He pulled away again, and participated in the transformation of an asteroid into a   
ball of fire and debris. The asteroid had been a mere 50 meters from the Aquataine before   
he killed it.  
  
"This is Beta wing of the 107th. Launching now," a monotone voice reported as   
four Hercules Mark II fighters soared out of the Aquataine's fighter bay. "Minnows, once   
we sortie Kappa and Delta, you will be relieved. Until then, your help would be   
appreciated."  
  
"YOU'RE help would be appreciated," Fargo growled, "when you move your   
ASSES OVER HERE! MOVE!"  
  
Space had ceased to become a complete vacuum. The gases and plasmas from the   
vaporized asteroids had created a thin layering surrounding the Aquataine. Dust and   
particles had begun eroding the fighter's hull until Richard had switched his shields to mass   
repulsion.  
  
Larger chunks of debris were continually colliding with incoming asteroids,   
shifting their courses by critical meters. Several of the rocks were shifted away from the   
Aquataine... and several more were shifted towards it. Not even the advanced auto-  
computers onboard Richard's fighter could cope with such a mathematical barrage as they   
struggled to compute courses from nearly defunct sensors. Several times Richard had an   
asteroid in his sights, only to see its status changed from dangerous to non-hostile, and   
two more become dangerous. The bright flares of newly destroyed asteroids were only   
added to the confusion, each explosion burning out a number of the Ulysses' limited   
optical receptors.  
  
"Pilots, this is the Aquataine. The engineers are giving me an estimated time of   
one minute until gun platforms are operational. Hang in there."  
  
Easy for you to say, Richard snorted. After he vaporized another asteroid, he   
checked the status of the Aquataine. Several more of the ores had exploded within it's   
hull, and the destroyer's structural integrity read as only 82% on his targeting computer.  
  
Somebody made a fucking big goddamn mistake. How old were those records of   
this belt?  
  
The Aquataine was, however, now a mere five kilometers from the Vega jump   
node.  
  
The four Hercs rushed past Richard's craft at that moment, making his already sore   
ears began to protest with the sound of their engines roaring past. He laughed   
distractedly.  
  
Now that was a funny thing. Richard didn't know if it was the stress, terror, and   
desperation of the moment that caused his mind to wander while he was flying, and he   
didn't care. He let his instincts take over piloting while he mulled.  
  
The sound of their engines... funny. Very funny, something he never saw coming   
until he had actually arrived at the GTVA recruitment shuttles.  
  
There was sound in space. Not sound as Richard had been used to thinking of it.   
But the power sources on most space-faring craft emitted a particular type of quantum   
wave through subspace. These power sources notably included a craft's engines and   
weapons systems. The wave, as it went through subspace, caused a small vibration in   
every physical form of matter it passed through, including the human eardrum. The   
human eardrum sent the signal to the brain, which interpreted the vibrations as actual   
sound. The real irony here was that all the sci-fi flicks of the twentieth century got   
something right... the fancy weapons and ships depicted in those ancient visions of the   
future actually would make sound.  
  
Richard was snapped back into reality by a nearby asteroid detonation. He found   
that he had maneuvered to sight an asteroid that was heading towards the Aquataine, and   
vaporized it, and hit the burners again to avoid the shock-wave. His engines started to   
moan in protest.  
  
"This is Kappa wing of the 107th Ravens. Launching now." Four new fighters appeared   
on his fighter's sensors.  
  
"All ships," McNeil said, "stand clear of the asteroids. Gunnery reports all systems   
online."  
  
"Roger that, Aquataine," Fargo said. "Minnows, kill the asteroid you have   
targeted, then form up again 2 klicks from the Aquataine. We're heading into the node."   
Richard didn't have anything targeted, so he pulled away to the coordinates now indicated   
on his nav-comp. "Make sure you don't crash into any rocks yourselves, pilots," Fargo   
said.  
  
A bright blue beam emerged from the Aquataine, and vaporized three asteroids   
before shutting down again. The beam was accompanied by the trademark high-pitched   
whine that was actually the subspace signal Richard had though about.  
  
Three, four, then five more beams accompanied the first, pulverizing any asteroid   
they came across, whether or not it was on a collision course. "Beta and Kappa wings,   
are you joining us?" Fargo asked through the comm system.  
  
"Of course, Alpha. We're coming behind you now."  
  
Fargo switched to the channel that would enable communications between only   
Alpha wing. "Enjoy yourselves, pilots, this is the first time you'll be able to outmaneuver   
the pros. Even if you do have a technical advantage with the Ulysses."  
  
Richard smiled. "Where are we heading to, Alpha 1? With all the fire from the   
Aquataine, we can't land in its bays."  
  
"Correct, 2. That's why I'm going to prematurely test another of your skills.   
We're going through the jump node before the Aquataine does. Remember your training   
on the starfighter's subspace drive?"  
  
Richard looked at the node illuminated on his forward viewport. One of the things   
he did remember from simulators was that it was extremely difficult for a small mass like a   
fighter to properly manipulate the subspace harmonics needed to jump across the light-  
years to another star system.  
  
"It gets tricky here, pilots."  
  
"Oh, like we can't handle it?" Jefferson quipped. "We're only cadets and already   
we've saved the Aquataine, proud flagship of the 3rd fleet, from complete destruction."  
  
"Don't get cocky, 4. Okay, we're now entering the node. Beta and Kappa, you   
ready?"  
  
"We're from the 107th Ravens, Alpha. We're always ready."  
  
"Of course you are. Pilots, engage drives. See you on the other side, Aquataine."  
  
Well, Richard thought, here goes nothing. He pulled back on his throttle, and   
entered in the destination coordinates to his navigation computer. Ahead of him, his ship   
triggered a fluctuation in the wounded subspace of the area, opening a tear in space that   
shone through the cockpit with a bright, unearthly shimmer.  
  
The Ulysses fighter entered the rip.  
  
---  
  
"Cheers. Here's to the Alpha wing of the 999th Minnows," Fargo said after   
debriefing, in the Aquataine's off-time bar. He raised her glass, as did the thirty other   
Cadets in the crowded barroom. Richard found himself doing also, swept up in the event.   
They gulped the ship-made brew down as a group.  
  
"When class resumes tomorrow, we're all going to review the tapes from that   
mission. Especially the one recorded from Cadet McKnight's craft."  
  
Richard looked up in surprise. "My ship? Why?"  
  
"You mean you don't know?" It was Fargo's turn to act surprised. Richard   
indicated he honestly didn't.  
  
Fargo leaned forward, as if telling a confidential secret. "Well, besides scoring the   
highest asteroid kill number, besides preventing an asteroid from entering the exhaust   
tubes by flying into the exhaust itself, there was a single, incredible move that you pulled   
off that I want to demonstrate to the class. To tell you the truth, I haven't seen many pros   
pull something like that off."  
  
Richard merely stared at her.  
  
"You don't know what move?" Fargo asked. Richard shook his head. "Well," she   
continued, "After Beta wing flew past you, you targeted a large asteroid that wasn't   
heading anywhere near the Aquataine. An instant later, a sudden asteroid collision threw   
that rock towards the Aquataine's fighter bays at a fair speed. If you hadn't destroyed it at   
that instant, nobody else could have prevented it from annihilating the fighter bays. It   
hadn't even been listed as a target, but you saw where the collision with the other rock   
would send it. You saved Kappa and Delta wings from being crushed to death in a blaze."  
  
Richard blinked. He didn't remember doing that. How well did Lieutenant Fargo   
take her alcohol? He opened his mouth to ask jokingly...  
  
Wait.  
  
He remembered that at the exact moment Fargo had indicated his mind had been   
occupied with the problem of sound in space. He had been flying purely on instinct,   
disconnected from the conscious portion of his mind. It wasn't possible he had picked that   
asteroid to kill from sheer luck...  
  
Or had his subconscious done it for him? Detected the collision between the rocks   
before it happened, using the same portion of his brain that could actually calculate where   
a ball in flight in a gravitional field would land so he could catch it? It wasn't unheard of.  
  
Richard glanced around him, at his classmates. They were looking at him in   
complete seriousness.  
  
He looked down at his empty shot glass, and reformed the words in his mouth.   
"Damn, I guess I don't take alcohol well."  
  
A chuckle erupted from the crowd.  
  
"So let's get some more into us!" Fargo yelled then. "We need an excuse! Here's a   
toast to Beta wing of the 107th Ravens!"  
  
"Here, here!" came the eager shout as glasses were drained again. Richard barely   
had enough time to refill his own glass to make the next toast.  
  
"Here's to Kappa wing!" Again the oily brown liquid swilling in glasses was   
transported into the bloodstream. Another toast followed as Cadets rushed to refill,   
shouting and laughing eagerly and then drunkenly. "Here's to Delta wing, even though   
they didn't launch before the guns came online!"  
  
Richard decided to retreat to the back of the fray then. He had gotten enough   
insanity for one day, and wanted time to brood. However he was interrupted as another   
pilot who had left the mayhem sat down next to him.  
  
"Jefferson!" Richard burst. "I've been looking for you!"  
  
Red Jefferson set his glass down on the counter and smiled. "So you remembered   
my name. That was some pretty fancy flying out there."  
  
"Not so bad yourself, Cadet."  
  
"Psssh," he grunted. "No kidding. There was this one time, when I had an   
asteroid in my sights when it was just 20 meters away from the Aquataine, and I..." he   
trailed off, shaking his head. "Damn, but that frightened me out of my wits when I heard   
Fargo report the bogus coordinates. I swear my blood was boiling! How 'bout you?"  
  
"I was too panicked to do anything but sit there, for a while, before I engaged   
burners."  
  
Red guffawed, and idly surveyed the drunken mess the bar had degenerated into.  
  
"I'm kind of chagrined that the Admiral didn't personally thank us," Red said.   
"One of those rocks could have landed in the bridge."  
  
"Can't get everything. We're only Cadets, Red. Don't expect full honors... yet."  
  
"Yeah, yeah... still, we risked our lives to save his ass. Doesn't that count for   
something? Don't give me any bullshit about rank, we did what we did."  
  
Richard shrugged neutrally.  
  
"Just like Petrarch. Expend his pawns when he needs to, if they do work for him,   
afterwards he screws them out of a reward."  
  
"Improper attitude, Cadet," Richard smiled, "Don't they kick you out for that?"  
  
"Yeah, but THEY don't have to know, do they?" Red said, but with no trace of   
humor in his voice.  
  
Richard nodded, and decided to change the subject. "So, where are you from,   
Red? Vega? Or were you like me, and just enlisted there?"  
  
"Vega. Nice place. Almost the equal to Earth, before the explosion of the Lucifer   
collapsed the jump node in Delta Serpentis. Where you from, McKnight?"  
  
That made Richard sorry he had asked Red. He tried to shrug it off with a joke.   
"Need-to-know information, pilot."  
  
Red didn't laugh, only smiled. "Ah... again I can see where you are coming from.   
After debriefing, I took the liberty of checking into your background. From what I've   
found, you don't have one." The smile dropped from his face, Red's expression becoming   
one of deadly seriousness.  
  
Richard stared at Red, trying not to let his nervousness show.  
  
"Your file claims you came from the back-world system of Zeta Gomorra. I've   
been to ZG, and I can't detect any trace of the native accent in your speech."  
  
Richard looked straight ahead, while a lone bead of sweat dripped down his   
forehead. He pretended not to notice it.  
  
"It's okay, pal, I'm not gonna turn you in. I just wanted to let you know that your   
secret is safe with me. Let's just leave it at the statement that you're not the only one   
onboard this ship with a past to cover up. Okay?" Red grinned, and slapped Richard's   
back. "I'm gonna go join the party."  
  
Richard watched him leave and become hidden among the mass of bodies in the   
bar. He waited until Red was completely gone before he dared exhale. 


	5. Final Exam

Chapter 3:  
Final Exam  
  
---  
  
"Now comes the fun part, hotshots," Fargo said a month later. "As a final skills   
test before graduation, we are all going to engage in a simulator dogfight against each   
other."  
  
After the incident with Red, Richard had stayed clear of the any other training   
group's social endeavors. When he was asked why, Richard began recounting some old   
childhood trauma tale about the other kids that he made up. Such encounters usually only   
lasted about 30 seconds.  
  
The GTD Aquataine had stayed an extra month in Vega while repair crews   
scoured the destroyer's surface. Now all of the Aquataine's compartments were capable of   
supporting human and Vasudan life again, and the crew and passengers had recently been   
briefed that the Aquataine would be leaving for the Deneb system shortly. Admiral   
Bosch's Neo-Terran Front had recently registered some dismaying gains there.  
  
The ship has taken some heavy casualties during the battle in the asteroid field, and   
the crew replacements were now all onboard... all 300 of them. The field itself had been   
classified by the GTVA Natural Disasters Board as dangerous to any vessels, and the jump   
node itself had been sealed off. In a way, the Aquataine was lucky to have gotten through   
it, because if she had been forced to take the longer route around to Vega and Deneb, she   
would still be traveling.  
  
"Now our training group is had more than thirty people in it," Fargo continued,   
"Now consider that, and add to those each of those people a heavily armed fighter of their   
choice, and a confined space around a simulated Arcadia-class Terran installation, and   
what do you have? Cadets, you have hell in a hand-basket. We will be pulling some fairly   
tight maneuvers in there."  
  
Fargo had quickly forgotten the 'heroism' Richard had shown during the asteroid   
field maneuvers. He knew it was purposeful, to now show favoritism to anybody,   
especially not an ace cadet with a bad social record. Such events would spawn an overly-  
inflated ego.  
  
Richard had not yet heard anything about Douglas Remmington, and the Siren's   
Call. This was natural of course, Douglas would not have contacted him even if he had   
made it through the jump node to Epsilon Pegasi. However, nothing had been on the local   
news broadcasts that even made a mention of a single ship trying to run the blockaded   
jump node. Richard had no choice but to take it as a good omen, if Siren's Call had been   
destroyed while running the blockade, the GTVA would trumpet their victory to every   
reporter on Vega.  
  
"During the mock dogfight, you will have the ability to respawn for not more than   
five times after a death. And," Fargo smiled, "as an extra incentive to do well, I will fail   
those three students who get the lowest kill score."  
  
Richard had, for the most part, done extraordinarily well in his training. He now   
knew the cockpit interior of any fighter like he did the back of his own hand. During   
bombing simulations, it had been Richard who scored the final shot that destroyed the   
simulated Orion-class destroyer. He was below average at one point though... during   
combat Richard could not for the life of him figure out how to equalize energy settings   
between his subsystems without being distracted.  
  
"I did not tell of this until today, as you MUST learn that combat situations are   
often times very spontaneous, occurring with little or no warning. Cadets, you have five   
minutes now to get in full flight gear and report to the simulator chambers on Deck 31.   
Now move."  
  
---  
  
The simulator chamber had little decoration, and for good reason. The walls were   
a depressing shade of gunmetal gray in a square chamber 20 meters across. The air here   
was cooler than the rest of the Aquataine, and a little stuffier as well. Obviously the life-  
support was not as strong here, and to Richard's naked eye he could detect no vents or   
openings other than the chamber doors.  
  
What made this chamber special to the officers and crew of the GTD Aquataine   
were the oval pods depressed into the floor of the chamber, and there were about fifty of   
the stretched across the room. The pods were about the size of a starfighter cockpit (in   
other words very small) and painted a dull red, with an opaque shielding covering each.   
Various wires were cast haphazardly about the room, and the slight hum of the power   
being run through them echoed off the barren walls, giving Richard a feeling of a spartan   
oppression which had become very familiar over the last few weeks.  
  
The loneliness that pervaded this room was only staged off slightly by the murmur   
of Richard's cadet comrades. Richard tried his best to ignore them, knowing that in a   
short few minutes they would become his bitter enemies during the dogfight.  
  
Fargo sat on top one of the simulator pods, and waited until the group settled   
down. "Okay, people, this dogfight has no set time limit. Whoever is the last flying will   
be declared winner."  
  
"I said before that the three pilots who score the worst here will be flunked out of   
my class, and I stand by that. The GTVA has enough fighter pilots as it is, and command   
has instructed me to only allow in those who can handle themselves in a combat situation.   
However, as another incentive, the 'winner' of this sim will be given command of their own   
fighter wing once they join up with their squadrons."  
  
"I'll be observing you from within my own pod, but I will not interfere with this   
dogfight. Good luck, Cadets, and remember not to take any of this personally."  
  
The pod covers hissed open, and the cadets began to pick and chose the pods they   
wanted. Richard chose the one in the corner, and snapped the cover shut around him.  
  
The false cockpit around Richard engulfed him in pitch darkness. It was not for   
several long moments that something on his instrumentation panel lit up. It was the   
communications receiver.  
  
Richard pulled his flight headset around his ears, and hit the RECEIVE button.   
Another nearby display began to glow, informing him that the message was directed at him   
through standard GTVA flight frequencies, standard transmission.  
  
"Pilots, I will engage the encoding sequence as this transmission ends… now."   
Fargo's transmission degenerated into a series of static bursts. Richard was familiar with   
the routine, and flipped the barely visible decryption switch. The computer buzzed, and   
Fargo's voice became intelligible again.  
  
"Okay, now assume you are inside a standard hangar, and begin powering up your   
fighter's systems. I will time you for speed and accuracy."  
  
Richard looked upwards, towards the roof of his pod, and triggered three switches   
on the top panel, the power lattices signal for start-up. Instead of the dull illumination that   
had haunted through the pod, every panel lit up, and began displaying status reports, save   
for the forward view, which remained absolutely dark. He punched the engine status key,   
and began feeding test instructions into his navigation and weapons systems computer.  
  
A blinking light attracted his attention, the secondary shield generators remained   
dead. With the secondary shields, the primaries did not have the energy redundancy they   
needed to deflect mass. He smiled, it was Fargo ensuring that her trainees were   
completely attentive during the process, and activated the reserve generators. Shields   
registered fully active.  
  
A window that would normally give Richard targeting data on a selected ship   
glowed with another light, and a menu appeared, listing the various ship types.  
  
"Now select the craft you wish to fly during this dogfight. I have made available   
over 21 types, so this should make combat much more diverse. After that, select your   
weapon load-outs. What you can carry will be dependent on the fighter you have chosen."  
  
Richard choose the GTF Artemis for the flight. The Artemis was a heavy bomber   
class fighter, and moved and maneuvered slowly. However, it carried extremely high   
marks for hull strength and weapon ordnance capacity. For weapons, he selected as a   
primary laser cannon the Prometheus Retrofit cannon, and as a secondary laser the Subach   
HL-7.  
  
Richard hesitated when he began selected the missiles he wanted to fill his bays   
with. Yes, he thought, nobody would expect this, but does that make it good? It may   
catch them by surprise, but surprise alone cannot kill. He felt his brow furrow. If this   
gambit worked, he would be rewarded with a remarkably high kill score. If it didn't he   
would meet ridicule and several deaths, and, if his score was low enough, expulsion from   
the GTVA fighter program, and it would be the end for his true mission here.  
  
He made up his mind, and thought, *It doesn't matter whether you win or lose, it's   
how you play the game.*  
  
For two of his three missile banks, he selected the Harpoon missiles, which were   
standard anti-fighter weapons. But for his third bank, he loaded it with the Helios bomb.  
  
The Helios was an anti-cruiser weapon, a slow, bulky warhead that was meant for   
piercing the hull of a capital ship with a high explosive charge. It had virtually no tracking   
ability, and was thus absolutely useless against the faster starfighters.  
  
He hit the ACCEPT key, and waited.  
  
It was several moments before his communications panel lit up again with Fargo's   
voice. "Cadet McKnight, my computer must be feeding me faulty data. It says here that   
you selected a bomber fighter, and the Helios bomb as a warhead complement."  
  
Richard opened his transmission channel. "That's correct, Lieutenant. I will fly the   
Artemis with the Helios ordnance."  
  
"Cadet," Fargo sounded annoyed, "You did listen me, didn't you? You are aware   
this is a dogfight, not a bombing mission."  
  
"I am aware."  
  
"Suit yourself," Fargo said simply, and silence again consumed the speakers.  
  
Another several minutes passed while the remaining cadets selected their choices.   
Richard waited tensely, until finally the Fargo cut in again.  
  
"You are now all completely flight prepped. When the simulation starts, you will   
be emerging from subspace five kilometers from the Arcades station."  
  
*Five kilometers,* Richard thought in dawning horror, *That's worse than I had   
anticipated! Much worse!*  
  
"You will begin in five seconds. Good hunting."  
  
It was another tense ticking of the clock before the forward viewport shed the   
darkness, and became the bright colors and shapes of the innards of subspace. After the   
inky blackness that had presided before, it was almost blinding. Richard resisted the   
impulse to shield his eyes.  
  
The ebbs and flows of subspace gave way to the pinpricks of stars and the vacuum,   
dying out to become normal space. Behind the fighter, the portal it had emerged through   
sealed itself off, rendering itself to become dark again. To Richard's pupils, the struggle to   
compensate became almost too intense, but they managed to cope.  
  
The radar screen on Richard's HUD immediately began to pinpoint the positions of   
31 hostile fighters, each with three kilometers of each other, and surrounding the faint   
target ahead, the Arcadia installation.  
  
The Arcadia class of stations was a strange design, yet a familiar one. A giant,   
three kilometer wide mass of immobile metal constructs, almost a rectangle with corners   
and edges cut out at random. A tower stretching away from it on what Richard currently   
perceived as the top of the station marked the command center and administration offices.  
  
The most interesting part of the Arcadia was the immense hole in the center. This   
hole had a radius of almost a quarter of the station itself, and was perfectly regular as it   
reached through the station, until it emerged in the other side, linking the two borders   
through vacuum. To signify its importance, the interior of the hull was coated with a   
different metal, giving it a yellowish-gold color.  
  
The Arcadia station was used primarily as a supply point, and the site for the   
construction of cruiser-class capital ships. The framework and hull of a cruiser would be   
assembled inside the specially coated interior, and that would be shipped to another point   
for systems integration. Thus, cranes and platforms dotted the interior of the vast   
construction zone, as well as on the outside of the station.  
  
In real life, the station itself was armed with several laser cannons, none of which   
would be used in this dogfight. The station was designated neutral, and was present solely   
as an obstacle in the center of the fight.  
  
From Richard's fighter, the station appeared desperately small. Hopelessly small,   
too far away…  
  
Five kilometers distanced him from his only hope at successfully dodging in this   
clunky fighter, and his fellow cadets were now surrounding him on all sides. Two of them   
were heading directly towards his fighter at far faster than the Artemis could manage, even   
with afterburners.  
  
The HUD was began to indicate a warning as the enemy fighters closed to two   
kilometers.  
  
Richard almost resigned himself to his fate of death, when a single, pervading   
thought echoed through his consciousness. Divide and Conquer.  
  
He examined the radar signatures of the fighters approaching his craft. One was a   
Hercules Mark II, and the other was the old Ulysses class. The Herc, although still faster   
then the Artemis, was bulkier than the Ulysses, although capable of holding more arms.   
The Ulysses was a fighter chosen primary in fights like this for its speed, and razor-thin   
profile which made it harder to hit. It could run circles around the bomber.  
  
Richard sighed, and pulled his fighter around to face the Herc II dead on. Perhaps   
he could force it away from interception using his Harpoon missiles. This could be   
extremely difficult, as the second Richard had closed within missile range, he would also   
be within the range of the Herc. And the faster Ulysses was closing in on his tail.  
  
Targeting warnings flashed and vied for Richard's attention as soon as he closed to   
within a kilometer of the Hercules, which had been designated Hadley. He had assumed   
that the craft, lacking a squadron or even a wing, would be named after their pilots, and   
this was confirmed here. Robert Hadley had remained obstinately at about the middle of   
the class in skill rankings, and during combat Richard had known his weapons skills to be   
somewhat mediocre.  
  
900 meters, range! A triangle was projected across the pod's HUD, vectoring in   
on Hadley's Hercules Mk2, running loops around the target as it strove to acquire an   
aspect lock. The aspect-seeking missiles, such as the Harpoon, were much, much more   
accurate then standard heat-seekers, except for the fact that without an aspect lock they   
were useless. The lock usually took several seconds to find a target in an arena where   
microseconds were the most precious currency.  
  
Richard swallowed as another set of warnings indicated that Hadley had also   
begun to find an aspect lock. Hadley must have chosen Harpoon missiles as well.  
  
The comm system buzzed, and a familiar voice, Hadley's, spoke with a taunting   
hint. "Bomber… huh," he chortled, "McKnight, you dumbass. What the hell were you   
thinking?"  
  
Richard had no response. It suddenly struck him how insane this was. What   
devilish plan had he been fermenting? It had completely nulled now, and he was left   
sitting in the cockpit of a simulated hunk of slow moving crap, and about to be pulverized   
several times over by craft that obviously outmatched him in every way possible.  
  
The triangular targeting graphic ceased looping drunkenly around the Herc, and   
maintained a position solidly on the approaching fighter's nose, and Richard's headphones   
emitted a solid machine tone. He furiously stabbed buttons, urging the Harpoons to   
launch.  
  
On both sides of the simulated Artemis fighter, two warheads were pushed away   
from the port and starboard tubes on a blast of high-pressure exhaust. Within a sixth of a   
second, the thrusters on the Harpoons kicked in, spraying yellow fumes across the prow of   
the Artemis as they streaked towards their target at over three times the speed of the   
Artemis.  
  
At that exact instant, Hadley fired his two Harpoons.  
  
Left with no alternative, Richard pulled away from the Herc coming towards him   
head-on, and engaged full afterburners. The Harpoons passed each other and continued   
swooping in towards their respective targets. Due to the angle, Richard could no longer   
see Hadley's reaction to his threat.  
  
His HUD was again lit with warnings. The Ulysses craft, designated Ida, was   
within firing range, and attempted to achieve an aspect lock.  
  
*Shit.*  
  
Not even the versatile Ulysses-type craft could outrun a Harpoon missile, and   
Richard obviously stood no chance of eluding it, even with burners still engaged.  
  
On his instrumentation panel, among the arrays and rows of display readouts,   
switches, and controls, there was a single button protected by a glass shielding. Richard   
flipped open the glass, palms sweating, and pressed the button.  
  
Every GTVA fighter craft has loaded on to it several dozen anti-missile   
countermeasures, for use ONLY in extremely dangerous situations. Due to their limited   
supply, pilots were urged to conserve them at every point possible.  
  
Aspect-seeking missiles, however, were very resistant to the counter-measures,   
and were capable of surpassing several of them to destroy its true target. Richard fired off   
five of his supply, and twisted his craft around in a mad circle in an attempt to avoid the   
incoming warheads.  
  
The counter-measure system worked by utilizing a cone-shaped sensor beacon,   
which in turn would project a sensor ghost to the missiles. The ghost would assume the   
exact properties of their home craft, in this case Richard's GTF Artemis, in an attempt to   
fool the missiles into detonating on the countermeasures, instead of the fighter.  
  
Nature abhorred a vacuum, and scientists equipped the Harpoon missiles with   
optical sensors as well as Radar, to prevent the waste of the valuable Harpoons. For   
Richard's countermeasures to work they thus must assume the shape and size of the craft   
in question, which was obviously impossible. For the sensor ghost to be perceived as   
accurate by the missile's processors it must be at extremely short ranges, almost point   
blank, to detonate before the optical sensors could override the impulse.  
  
Richard stabbed the button five times, and pulled a high-gee left spin… unfelt in   
the unmoving simulator pod. There was a vague sense of disconnected atrophy, leaving   
Richard disoriented.  
  
The pyramid-shaped countermeasure drones set immediately to work broadcasting   
their dummy signal, and both incoming missiles swerved away from the Artemis. One of   
them smashed into a countermeasure, instantly flaming, even in the vacuum of space as the   
warhead was triggered. The other missile was knocked off course by the proximity of the   
detonation, giving it time to properly re-identify the bomber _McKnight_. Richard swore a   
silent curse that the warhead hadn't been demolished by the shock-wave.  
  
The missile continued to accelerate towards the bulky Artemis, moving at a ten-  
gee acceleration force, leaving Richard absolutely no time to react.  
  
The shear kinetic force of the missile pierced both the shields and the fuselage of   
the Artemis' port fusion engine pod, completely annihilating the intake values, and sending   
streamers of fire and plasma through the reaction coil, the primary source of propulsion   
for the port engines. If it weren't for the detonation itself, which followed a microsecond   
later, the input would have continued feeding white-hot deuterium through the broken   
valves, which would have been more than enough to trigger a fatal overload. As it was,   
the detonation completely sealed what remained of the tubes.  
  
For what the simulator pods lacked in gee-force acceleration, they more than made   
up for in collisions. Motors underneath the pod whirred to life, and began to violently   
buck the pod forward. Richard was thrown forward against his harness, with such a force   
that he was sure it would leave a nasty bruise.  
  
The Artemis spun wildly out of control with only the starboard engine active, and   
the pod gleefully responded, shoving the nose of the simulator forward, and then suddenly   
to the left. Richard barely managed to keep his grip on the controls; not that it mattered at   
any rate, he thought ruefully.  
  
The Artemis' stabilizer programs kicked in, reducing the starboard thrust and   
attempting to bring the reserve port valves online. The harpoon had indiscriminately   
destroyed everything near the impact point, including the reserves. The port afterburners   
were the only systems on the port fuselage that even acknowledged a systems diagnostic.   
Fortunately, they were still online, and the stabilizer programs sought it out. The burners   
fired several times, reducing the dangerous spin the Artemis had accumulated, and the   
starboard engine shut down to compensate, leaving the McKnight drifting towards the   
Arcades station at a constant speed in the frictionless vacuum.  
  
The stabilizer programs, standard on every fighter's emergency reaction system,   
did this before Richard could even grab the controls, and their monitors blinked proudly at   
him.  
  
Richard, trying to shake the feeling that he was fighting for a cause that had   
already lost, peered through his cockpit's side view, and examined the damage.  
  
The engine fuselage itself was reasonably intact, the only tell-tale sign of damage   
was a seven-meter burning hole, leaking debris, gases, and metal slag. Dammit, he   
thought, it went flying straight through before it blew. The relatively little external   
physical damage was overshadowed by fact that visible through the entrance puncture was   
a gaping twenty-meter diameter hole. It would have been better by far for the Artemis had   
the missile detonated on the heavily armored exterior, and had not touched the vulnerable   
internal mechanics. It seemed little consolation that the shielding of the Artemis had   
slowed the missile, preventing it from digging through the engine pod until it reached the   
cockpit.  
  
Also visible from that angle was the other two harpoons diving straight for the   
Artemis. The Ulysses pilot laughed ferociously through the speakers. "You lose,   
Hadley!" the vicious chuckle rang irritatingly through Richard's ears. "I get the kill!"  
  
Richard sighed sadly as the missiles shattered the prow of the Artemis, whose   
heavy hull layering could not resist the barrage. A curtain of flame washed over the   
cockpit window, and the pod bucked one more time before every monitor suddenly   
snapped into bleak darkness. The exterior view was replaced by midnight black.  
  
After several seconds, the dim cockpit was lit by a single, glowing monitor.  
  
CADET MCKNIGHT: KILLED BY CADET IDA  
KILL SCORE: 0  
DEATHS: 1  
YOU HAVE 3 RESPAWNS REMAINING  
PRESS TRIGGER TO ACKNOWLEDGE  
  
To Richard's dismay, there was no option to change his craft choice. He resigned   
himself to the Artemis, and his fate, and hit what had been the primary fire trigger.  
  
The cockpit was once again lit by the steady glow of display monitors and control   
panels. The light was almost immediately drowned out by the flash of subspace, as the   
Artemis emerged from the flux of subspace.  
  
The retinal-burning aura of the portal ceased, and was replaced by the dim specter   
of the stars. Behind the Artemis bomber _McKnight II_, reality again assumed normal   
proportions as the subspace flux sealed upon itself.  
  
The Arcadia installation was still five kilometers away, directly ahead in the pod's   
HUD. Not more than three kilometers away, between the Artemis and the installation, a   
fierce battle raged in path. Sub-munitions from missile exploded in a violent fury,   
shattered by the frequent laser bursts in a storm over four kilometers long. The   
unmistakable burst of a larger starfighter's fusion coils overloading marred the background   
of the void, fading away after only half-a-second in the fray.  
  
Space there had again ceased to be a vacuum, something Richard had only seen   
during the asteroid incident. It was extremely rare for such a phenomenon to occur, not   
even the larger naval battles of the Great War had produced that effect.  
  
No sensor in existence could penetrate such a maelstrom, and the simulators   
reflected this perfectly. All the starfighters in the quarry had activated their full electronic   
warfare suites, sending out bursts of EMP blasts that wrecked havoc with enemy sensors.   
Most had already expended their entire supply of countermeasure drones, filling space   
with a seemingly endless supply of scanner echoes. The radar monitor on the pod's lower   
HUD gave the total number of detectable fighters as 93, even after discounting all visible   
countermeasures. And that was only on the edges of the fire-fight. The center registered   
as almost a solid mass on the detector screens, impervious even to the optical detectors.   
Worse still, any optical sensors that Richard directed towards the firestorm were quickly   
burnt out before any useful data could return. He would have to relay on his eyes and his   
eyes alone, the UV and gamma rays being emitted were far too powerful, and the Artemis   
bomber was not equipped with standard visible light optics. He swore another curse, one   
which would have normally made him blush foolishly.  
  
Richard quickly and wisely changed course, and told the bomber to skirt the fray   
by a minimum of two kilometers, while slipping towards the Arcadia station, and powered   
down his active sensors. If he relied only on his passives, that included mainly his own   
vision, he might be able to fly past, unnoticed.  
  
If.  
  
Dammit, why did it always have to be like that?  
  
---  
  
The Ulysses starfighter Ida burst apart in the targeting receptacles, as fire from the   
Subach HL-7 lasers shredded the fighters cockpit. Debris went spinning off into space,   
adding to the surrounding confusion.  
  
Red Jefferson smiled briefly, then twisted hard to starboard as a pair of Hornet   
missiles randomly locked onto his Vasudan-designed Serapis class fighter, streaking out of   
the fray.  
  
The Serapis fighter was an agile design, quick and maneuverable, while   
maintaining a modest weapons load. It was similar to the Terran design Myrmidon fighter   
in those terms, but its shape was decidedly alien in appearance, sleek, and light brown.   
The majority of the cadets had chosen Terran vessels, making the Serapis look out of   
place in the fray.  
  
Not that anybody could see anything.  
  
He had been forced to put switch on the pod's light dampers to avoid being blinded   
by the intense flares coming out of the massive center of the fight. His craft's optical   
receptors were completely down, and standard sensors were useless with the countless   
numbers of countermeasure drones and EMP packages exploding.  
  
The fray was beginning to thin, however, as the Cadets realized their mistake in   
helping to create such an epic fire-storm, and all of the fighters were now heading directly   
away from it, occasionally taking pot-shots at one another. He could almost hear Fargo's   
laughter, mocking them for behaving in such a dangerous yet ultimately predictable   
manner.  
  
Both incoming Hornets smashed into a countermeasure drone that had been   
released by some long-dead fighter, and they ceased to be a problem. The dying   
maelstrom behind now, Red reduced his visual dampers, and targeted the next nearest   
starfighter. It was a Hercules Mark II designated _Bruner II_.  
  
It was vaporized almost immediately before Red could do as much as swing his   
craft around. He muttered an obscenity towards the assassin, and was about to target it   
when something caught his eye.  
  
The light from a nearby sun (this training simulation was running in a binary star   
system) glinted off the shield layers of a starfighter completely ignoring everything else,   
and heading directly for the Arcadia installation. He ordered a closer scan, using his last   
Radar sensor reserves, and hoped he was far enough away from the EMP pulses.  
  
The HUD displayed the results nearby the Radar indicator. An Artemis class   
bomber. What kind of a dumb-ass would fly that during a dogfight? He immediately   
thought it was some trick of Lieutenant Fargo's to show off, but then a full identification   
was received as the distance from any EMP bombs was dramatically increased.  
  
McKnight. *What the hell is that lying bastard up to?* He thought slyly, then   
engaged full afterburners to intercept.  
  
---  
  
The Arcadia was less than two kilometers away when the first warnings lit up. A   
Serapis fighter was about a kilometer and a half away from starboard, closing fast, and   
armed with dual Harpoon missiles.  
  
Richard inhaled sharply. He had to make it. There was no alternative. Almost   
instinctively he hit his bomber's afterburners.  
  
The Serapis was outrunning the Artemis at a depressingly fast rate. Even with   
throwing a significant amount of propulsion to port, Richard realized the Serapis would   
reach missile range before he could hide behind the vast metal bulk of the Arcadia. After   
the last encounter with Harpoon fire, he wasn't willing to go up against that firepower   
with only counter-measures again.  
  
There was an alternative.  
  
Richard giggled uncontrollably as he slowed to one-third throttle. It was all   
insane. All of it.  
  
Not for the first time, he regretted choosing the Artemis.  
  
---  
  
The _McKnight II_ was now headed directly away from Red's Serapis fighter, and…   
he double-checked his read-outs for residual EMP interference… ridiculously reduced its   
speed to one-third of the bomber's already pathetic thrust.  
  
Almost made him pity the son-of-a-bitch.  
  
The aspect-lock icon slid across the pod's HUD, zeroing in on the bomber. The   
triangle took several seconds to attain a full target lock, then toned softly, compelling him   
to launch. He obeyed his instruments, and two yellow-orange flares soared away from the   
Serapis' missile bays, shooting the warheads away at a ten-gee acceleration.   
  
As if in a sudden panic, the Artemis hit its full burners again, accelerating to top   
speed. But before it did that, the bomber launched what appeared to be a Helios bomb,   
barely accelerating away. The bomber easily outran it, and passed the bomb.  
  
The Helios struggled awkwardly forward, the thrusters pushing it forward at a   
half-gee acceleration, trailing behind it a green exhaust flame.  
  
Red Jefferson frowned, then watched eagerly as the missiles continued to close in   
on their hapless target.  
  
He could not shake his mind from the bomb the McKnight had slowed to launch.   
It was extremely out of character for Richard, he had to be up to something. He told his   
instruments to scan it, and scowled at the result.  
  
---  
  
As Richard's Artemis sped away at full acceleration, it dropped a stationary   
countermeasure off at the exact speed the Helios was traveling. The countermeasure   
beacon was activated immediately, and the incoming Harpoons had quickly identified it as   
a non-threat, and re-targeted the Artemis. It continued hovering next to the slow-moving   
bomb.  
  
Every countermeasure beacon came equipped with a small destruction device that   
had remained a part of standard design since the Terran-Vasudan War. It was designed to   
prevent the acquisition of the countermeasure technology by a foreign power that might   
profit from studying the countermeasure. It was activated immediately when the fighter   
left the transmitting range of the drone, or was destroyed, and it burned through anything   
within a narrow half-meter distance.  
  
This self-destruction system was also equipped with a manual trigger that was   
available at the pilot's request.  
  
The instant the Harpoon missiles reached a 100 meter radius of the Helios bomb,   
Richard activated the detonation sequence. The beacon vanished in an instant puff of   
flame and vaporized metal. The same flame that penetrated the warhead of the nearby   
heavy bomb, and 20 ounces of modified antimatter rushed outwards to meet an equal mass   
of standard lead.  
  
A curtain of silent flame spread outwards, expanding to over 300 meters and   
consuming the missiles without slowing. The twin detonations barely left a blemish in the   
expanding shock-wave.  
  
Red Jefferson shouted a wordless word, and twisted his fighter sharply to port,   
bracing for the impact. Fortunately the shock-wave had dissipated by the time it reached   
the Serapis fighter, and didn't give the pod's motors enough cause to give in a slight   
shudder.  
  
The Serapis drifted back towards the Artemis under Red's cautious direction, in   
time to see the Artemis through the quickly thinning explosion. It ducked behind a   
docking strut on the Arcadia.  
  
Feeling the embers of revenge begin to spark, Red plotted a pursuit course.  
  
---  
  
Well, Richard thought, I actually got to the Arcadia, but can I pull this off? If he   
died in the process, Richard knew it would be by the thinnest stroke of luck if he could   
make it back again.  
  
The apex of the starfighter maelstrom had ceased to draw any action, but it was   
anything but still. Charged particles were continually rampaged by the static aftermath of   
the EMP explosions. It was a virtual nebula in space now, slowly expanding. Flashes of   
lighting illuminated the center as the particles leapt back and forth, and exchanged their   
energies continually.  
  
The cadets' starfighters, having since been chased away by the fantastic violence   
the nebula had spawned, were now regrouping on each other two kilometers from   
Richard's position aside the station. Flashes of EMP bursts and sub-munitions were again   
interfering with scans, as well as several countermeasure beacons. Richard didn't dare risk   
expending his precious few remaining optical receptors.  
  
So utterly predictable. They're reforming, and going to make another one of those   
damn sensor-obscuring nebulas.  
  
On a more pertinent level, that meant that there would be that much fewer fighters   
on his tail. He was reminded suddenly of this when the Serapis fighter rounded the corner   
of the Arcadia, and had a direct line-of-fire on him.  
  
Violet flashes of Subach laser fire flashed by his cockpit, and then impacted the   
rear shields. There was a dangerous sizzling noise as the protective energy barriers   
struggled to absorb that much power. Some of it began to nudge through the weakened   
shielding, and paste themselves onto the bomber's hull.  
  
Richard pulled up in a high-gee acceleration curve, and prepared to use the station   
again to obscure the Serapis' view, and thus fire. The corner was a mere two hundred meters   
away.  
  
Green laser fire joined with the Subach fire, and nearly forced the Artemis off its   
flight path. The two colors intermingled, and zeroed in on him as he shunted all of his   
power plant's energy reserves to engines.  
  
The green fire was from a Prometheus-retrofit type cannon, and coming from a   
different vector than the Serapis. Quickly, Richard checked his rear view.  
  
A second fighter, a Hercules Mk2 was angling in towards Richard, escaping the   
destructive power of the central fire-fight. A familiar, grating voice emerged from the   
pod's communication receivers.  
  
"You escaped from me last time, dumbass," George Hadley taunted. "I'm not   
gonna let that happen again."  
  
It was now or never. Richard reduced his throttle to one third again, and double-  
checked his after-burner charge levels.  
  
"Giving up so soon? Can't say I blame you." Both hostile fighters closed to within   
250 meters, their laser fire was deadly accurate.  
  
Richard targeted the Arcadia station, and fired a single Helios bomb before hitting   
his after-burners again. At the bomb's current rate of speed, it would impact the station in   
less than ten seconds.  
  
---  
  
Red watched the _McKnight II's_ engines roar desperately. Again, a single bomb   
was released from its bays, streaking green exhaust as it struggled to gain speed. It was   
directed towards the neutral Arcadia station.  
  
He told his Serapis to pay it no heed. It was busy. A red aspect-lock triangle was   
narrowing on the Artemis, ready to fire the Serapis' load of Hornet missiles.  
  
A Hornet missile was a slower, less powerful version of the Harpoon missile. But   
it was so much more powerful when used correctly. Due to the Hornet's compact form,   
up to eight of them could fit in the fighter's missile bays.  
  
Again, the _McKnight_ dodged behind the hull of the mammoth metal construct,   
cutting off the missile lock.  
  
The Hercules Mk2 seemed to not notice the Serapis besides it. An impossibility,   
Red knew, because it had come from directly behind. It probably could have taken him   
out, but instead it had ignored the interceptor completely, obsessed with the Artemis.  
  
*Notice this, jackass.*  
  
The Serapis pulled to port, its wing sticking far out in front, and rammed the   
fuselage of the Herc. Red's exterior hull was composed primary of the stronger Vasudan   
alloys, and dug itself five meters into the starboard side of the engines before the   
momentum finally ceased.  
  
White-hot deuterium from the shattered valves poured liberally onto the Serapis'   
wing, melting through it, and burning through what remained of the Herc's engines. Both   
starfighters wobbled through space uncertainly, each caught in the other and trying to   
regain control. The conflicting propulsions nearly crashed both into the metallic monster   
of the Arcadia.  
  
Red finally managed to drag his fighter's wounded wing from the side of Hadley's   
Hercules. He hadn't been counting on the deuterium valves; usually they were small and   
extremely difficult to locate with anything other than a complete decimation of the hull.   
Bad luck.  
  
Hadley's fighter, having taken by far the worst of the damage, fell far behind. It   
floundered like a wounded eagle to regain control of its flight, before his starboard engine   
shut down completely. Program redundancies and fail-safes had long since failed to   
operate, and the fighter was sent tumbling away from the Arcadia.  
  
The Helios impacted the Arcadia.  
  
Red Jefferson saw far too late what had happened. He had just fought Hadley   
over who was going to be the first to die.  
  
A shower of flame spread upwards, vaporizing a large portion of the Arcadia's   
docking platforms in an ever-expanding fury that rivaled that of the artificial nebulas. The   
Serapis fighter barely left a blemish as it winked out of existence, vaporized instantly.  
  
An new sun was formed temporarily as power cables in the interior of the Arcadia   
snapped, sending a whiplash of raw energy through the hull of the station. The backlash   
of both the Helios and the released power supply sent pure atomic energy racing   
outwards, severing the umbilical supports between the station and the largest of the   
docking platforms, tossing it haphazardly off into space. If the detonation had taken place   
inside of a gravity field, an instant mushroom cloud would have formed.  
  
The energy finally subsided, but the force did not. A violent stream of energy and   
debris was thrown outwards in a shock-wave. Numerous meteorite-sized pinholes dotted   
Hadley's injured fighter, piercing the cockpit and fuel storage chambers. The Herc's air   
supply didn't have time to rush out before friction excited the unstable deuterium samples.  
  
The Hercules didn't explode. It became a sheet of pure plasma, rushing in all   
directions. Hadley only figured out what had happened after the pod's monitors had   
snapped off, and reported his death.  
  
The Arcadia station's hull itself shielded the Arcadia from the worst of the   
explosion. It sailed away happily as Richard watched his kill score increase, invulnerable   
to the destruction that he had caused.  
  
A second or two after the last of the flames was extinguished, the communications   
line was alive with chatter.  
  
"Shit!"  
  
"What the hell-"  
  
"Who-"  
  
"Helios bomb-"  
  
"Look out! Incoming debris!"  
  
The shock-wave washed over the stunned starfighter pilots, letting none escape   
without damage as shrapnel pinpricks shot through their vital systems. Only three were   
actually destroyed, however, as thick cockpit windows were cracked, leaking the life-  
sustaining atmosphere away.  
  
"You son-of-a-bitch bomber," someone laughed. Richard couldn't distinguish   
who.  
  
"It was McKnight! Sweet shit!"  
  
"Get the Artemis," Hadley's voice roared, his fighter reincarnated.  
  
Red just laughed as his Serapis re-emerged from subspace. "I gotta hand it to you,   
McKnight. Had us fooled. Too bad you won't be able to do it again."  
  
Richard realized that Jefferson was correct. Now that the other Cadets had seen   
what he could do, there was no possible way that they were going to let themselves get   
caught near the Arcadia. They weren't stupid.  
  
"Get the bastard. Pick him off from a distance with missiles."  
  
Still, did he need to do anything else? He had scored five kills, which was more   
than enough to ensure that he would pass. McKnight thought again about Fargo's   
promise, the reward of commanding a squadron wing.  
  
"After we get 'im, don't let that peck anywhere near the Arcadia again," a thickly   
accented voice said.  
  
"Tear apart his flesh! Chew on his bones!" Hadley cried.  
  
The vast majority of starfighter exhausts turned, pointing directly away from   
Richard, and sending their owners towards the Artemis bomber. Occasionally, several of   
them would take pot-shots at each other, swooping around and racing as vultures for their   
prize.  
  
Richard truly knew the definition of intimidation. He felt incredibly alone watching   
the vast array of hostiles close on him, and him alone. Vultures.  
  
What to do?  
  
He slowed again to one-third throttle, and rigged his Helios bombs to accept an   
aspect-lock. A scarlet glowing triangle rotated across his pod's screen, zeroing in on a   
fighter dead ahead, the _Yoshi III_, a Myrmidon class interceptor. The Helios had a two-  
kilometer targeting range, essentially meaning that he could attain a lock with his bombs   
faster than any Harpoons or Hornets.  
  
Unfortunately, the Helios bomb was useless when targeting starfighters. It had no   
onboard optical receptors, meaning a single countermeasure, or slight maneuver in any   
direction could throw the bulky torpedo off course.  
  
"What the hell? McKnight's trying to lock his Helios on to me."  
  
"He's up to something," Hadley said. "Better to turn away than risk it."  
  
"I'm not taking orders from you, ass. This is a dogfight, remember? We both   
want each other dead."  
  
"Correction. We all want McKnight dead. Now concentrate on him."  
  
"Screw you, Hadley," somebody else said. A minor dogfight broke out between   
Hadley's Herc and another Ulysses class fighter, with Hadley emerging victorious, but far   
behind the other fighters closing on the Artemis.  
  
Richard's aspect triangle blinked as a solid lock was achieved. He fired the Helios,   
the immediately opened a tight-beam communications channel to the bomb's guidance   
processor, canceling the targeting information, and telling the bomb to fly on a straight   
path.  
  
The Helios bomb itself was already overloaded with the warhead itself, adding the   
propulsion jets and guidance computers merely served to make the bomb more massive   
than necessary. It was proposed once at the GTVA Security Council that the Helios be   
driven by nothing more than the inertia of the bomber itself, but this was quickly   
disregarded by the weaponry scientists. Still, the bomb was far too heavy to have anything   
else loaded on to it, including a manual detonation device.  
  
The Helios was normally detonated by the sheer kinetic impact with the hull of its   
target. Anything that was otherwise ignite the explosives in the bomb would have to be   
from an external force.  
  
Richard increased his speed to match the bomb, and released one of his few   
remaining countermeasure beacons. He had carefully positioned his fighter to within a   
quarter meter; a very difficult task with the unresponsive controls of the Artemis, and   
executed a curving upward turn that would send him away from the coming onslaught of   
fighters.  
  
A single Serapis fighter peeled away from the swarm; it was the _Jefferson II_.  
  
Oh, but damn. He had forgotten that Red had seen this maneuver before. Richard   
waited for Red's scalding voice warning the others away.  
  
The communications line remained silent, save for the occasional idle chatter of   
competing pilots.  
  
*What's wrong, Red?* He thought. *Savoring the moment of spoiling my nefarious  
plans?*  
  
The silence was finally broken, not by Jefferson, but by Yoshi's laughter. His   
starfighter has twisted slightly to starboard after firing a countermeasure. The bomb   
appeared to be no longer tracking him, so he relaxed slightly. His braying laughter carried   
through all the Cadet's pods.  
  
Richard transmitted the destruction code to the countermeasure, which   
disappeared in a puff of steam and debris. That explosion was instantly overshadowed by   
the Helios.  
  
Without the added power of the nuclear power cables in the Arcadia, the explosion   
was several orders of magnitude smaller than the Arcadia detonation. But it could still   
destroy anything within half a kilometer by a combination of the incendiaries themselves,   
and a titanic energy shock-wave.  
  
The swarm of converging fighters was very compact in form.  
  
Yoshi was still laughing when his fighter disappeared amid a hail of energy brighter   
than a star. He only stopped when his monitors turned as black as night, save for the   
death indicator. Three other fighter pilots had no time for their brains to fully register the   
explosion before their individual starships were transformed into a stream of boiling   
plasma surging into space.  
  
Five more cadets had time to open their eyes in a sudden horror before the flames   
battered their crafts into death's submission.  
  
Seven cadets had actual time to maneuver desperately away before the shock-wave   
split them into shattered components.  
  
As soon as the bright superstar appeared on George Hadley's forward view, he just   
sat their in dawning terror as he saw the bomb consume the vast majority of the rag-tag   
starfighter mob. His own Hercules shuddered violently as the dissipated wave passed over   
him, and filling the pod with a low bass rumble. His own fighter had fallen far behind the   
rest of the group, and was safe from the primary explosion.  
  
The remaining fighters scattered in a disarrayed confusion, the communications   
lines overloaded with shouts and desperate pleas. And the Artemis continued straight   
ahead, as if it didn't have a care in the world.  
  
The remaining fighters regrouped, united completely this time. There were no   
dogfights amongst them as they closed on the Artemis, and made the final kill. Missile   
after missile reduced the bomber to radioactive dust, and every time McKnight respawned,   
the cadets made damn sure he never had a chance to launch a single bomb.  
  
But it was too late; Richard had already attained the highest kill score in the   
exercise. 


	6. Defection

Chapter 4:  
Defection  
  
  
Deep within the heart of the contested Deneb system, the Neo-Terran Front was   
preparing for a long, bloody siege.  
  
The NTF forces had long since had their spies infiltrate all but the highest echelons   
of the Galactic Terran-Vasudan Alliance, and were well aware that the Aquitaine, as well   
as the Vasudan destroyer Psamtik, were headed for the Deneb system. Both the GTVA   
and the rebellion had taken heavy casualties in the battle for the star, until finally it looked   
as if the Neo-Terrans might win the battle. Of course, the Alliance Security Council was   
no collection of fools, and had sent the two destroyers to the system to even the match.  
  
As this news had reached the NTF communications net, and finally Admiral Aken   
Bosch himself, he had ordered fighter and bomber wings throughout the system to be in a   
state of constant readiness. He knew that it would be impossible to blockade the jump   
node itself; the GTVA still held formidable forces in the system outskirts.  
  
Yesterday, at 2134 galactic, the flag of the Neo-Terran Front had been risen on the   
system's capital planet of Deneb. The GTVA news nets would not release that   
information yet, of course. They knew the illusion of an invincible alliance had to be   
maintained. Bugger the cost.  
  
Naturally, however, the propaganda stations of the NTF would hardly admit to the   
fact their rag-tag military fleet (composed primary of defected starships) would be grossly   
outnumbered by two destroyers alone.  
  
Bosch had pulled away his starfighters from non-essential locations such as cargo   
depots to be additions to blockade duties. The depot where Jason McNeil resided was   
very essential, though more so than Bosch would like to admit. Only the bombers had   
been recalled from this depot, leaving behind a full complement of Hercs and Loki-class   
scout fighters.  
  
Jason McNeil lay back in his bunk bed. He was always on the lower half, Bosch   
had insisted to him that even senior officers should not flaunt their privileged status to the   
rest of the crew. Necessity, he claimed, must take precedence over vanity.  
  
So this left Jason, commander of Admiral Bosch's personal, and top-secret, ETAK   
project sharing his quarters with a base-ranking shuttle mechanic.  
  
The irony of the situation had long since passed, simple frustration was settling   
over him.  
  
*Dammit, with the possible extinction of the Homo Sapiens at my fingertips, I   
deserve a little quiet time!*  
  
The bunk above him wasn't currently occupied. Jason had at least enough   
influence in the depot to insure that his roommate's duty schedule was different than his.   
But it still wasn't enough, they were together for several hours a day. By God, but that   
man was as annoying as hell.  
  
Jason clenched and unclenched his fists.  
  
Normally, the view of a starfield floating outside his would relax him, like a nice   
massage… but there was no starfield now. There hadn't been for over a year. Outside of   
his sole porthole, there was only the dark, smooth and unyielding rock that disguised the   
station from probing hostile sensors.  
  
His eyes fluttered backwards as he reveled in the futility of it all. He… just didn't   
get some of Bosch's whims. His fleet was being surrounded on all sides by the titanic   
might of the GTVA, and the man was concerned about a species that hadn't shown its face   
for over thirty-two years after its defeat.  
  
The Shivans, for Christ's sake. The Shivans were gone. Vanished. He was   
genuinely concerned for the Admiral's mental security, and would have voiced his fears by   
now, if not for the constant threat of execution to traitors.  
  
The NTF could desperately use the materials present at the depot elsewhere, he   
knew. Perhaps attempting to blockade the jump node to Alliance systems. Perhaps   
elsewhere. Unrest and riots were rampant in the Deneb system itself, and the occupying   
Neo-Terran troopers were forced to resort to the extremities of violence to stop the mob's   
rampage. The violence, in turn, sparked more anti-NTF riots. A vicious cycle.  
  
The same thing had happened in the other NTF systems. Eventually, the citizens   
would return to their houses in the complacency of fear. In truth, only a small minority of   
NTF-controlled star systems actually supported the rebellion. The numbers would change,   
Admiral Bosch had assured his paid reporters with his usual confidence.  
  
Hostile alert alarms began blaring throughout the metallic halls and corridors.  
  
Instinct kicked in, and Jason shot upwards, and ran out of the room. The corridors   
were usually a dull metallic gray; now alarm lighting had given the silicon walls a bright   
scarlet glow.  
  
The command center of the asteroid field depot was startlingly similar to the CC of   
a standard cruiser class warship. Two levels, the top smaller than the bottom and   
separated by a short railing. Primary functions were handled in the top deck, while the   
lower pit coordinated smaller, more technical details of station operations.  
  
At the night shift, the CC had a skeleton staff present, and there was a quiet hustle   
and bustle below. Only two people were present on the uppermost deck when Jason   
stormed in: a crew ensign was busy at communications, while a Navy Lieutenant was   
screaming at her console.  
  
"Report!"  
  
The Navy woman, Jay Breckenridge, continued desperately giving the sensors   
commands as she spoke. "Thirty seconds ago, a subspace vortex opened, large enough   
for a capital class cruiser to travel through. It had an alignment from the Sirius jump   
node."  
  
"Is it Admiral Bosch's carrier?" Jason asked. Bosch was due to arrive for an   
inspection at some point this month. He hadn't specified when.  
  
"Negative. Optics picked up a shadow emerging from the vortex terminus before   
it closed, but after that… it just disappeared from sensors."  
  
"What the hell do you mean, disappeared?" This was just all he needed right now.  
  
"The cruiser vanished from our sensors. There's no trace of it on either   
electromagnetic or radiation screenings, it doesn't register as an energy source, it doesn't   
even show up on the infrared. Even old fashioned radio radar isn't giving us a signal."  
  
"I thought that was impossible in this day and age."  
  
"It is!" Breckenridge said, exasperated. "But we still know its there. Optics   
report stars becoming temporarily invisible when the cruiser passes between us and them."  
  
"Give me a rough estimate on its position then," Jason sat down anxiously nearby   
the sensor station. He pointed to the Ensign Jargis, the communications officer. "You!   
Get me a full battle-readiness alert, all crews man their stations. And while you're at it, try   
and hail that damn ship out there."  
  
"I've already tried the unknown sir, there's no response."  
  
"Then launch all fighter wings."  
  
The optimum time for an immediate sortie of defensive fighter wings was thirty   
seconds. Jason had ensured before that the station was prepared to beat that number.   
Within moments, the asteroid depot's hangar bays peeled open, spewing wing after wing   
of Hercules Mk1s out into the abyss.  
  
"Are they're sensors having any more luck then ours?"  
  
"Negative."  
  
Jason thrummed his fingers on the console. The first rule of command was to   
always keep your subordinates busy, lest they grow lax in their duties. He turned around   
to Breckenridge.  
  
"Have you got that coordinates estimate yet?"  
  
"No, sir," she said, then quickly explained before Jason could open his mouth   
again. "I've determined the bearing of the unknown, but without a proper size determined,   
I can't figure the distance."  
  
She took a breath, as if bracing. "The only thing I can tell is that its headed   
for us. The area of distortion is expanding."  
  
---  
  
One minute ago, Ensign First Class Esteban Hanly had been relaxing with his   
squadron-mates in what had passed for the station's bar. In actuality, it was only an   
unused storage compartment that had some wily officer had sent up with moonshining   
stills, and an outrageous price. Now, struggling to fight the effects of the stiff alcohol, he   
was barely maintaining a slipshod formation as they chased about an unknown, nearly   
invisible hostile.  
  
Ahead, the area of darkness continued growing larger. The other pilots had   
already expressed their discomfort at the menace ahead, and Esteban couldn't help but to   
agree. The thing ahead, it wasn't so much the absence of illumination; it seemed to suck in   
all light.  
  
His comm system buzzed. "Beta wing," Jargis was saying, "I need you four to fly   
a loop around the unknown. We can use that data to formulate a size and speed   
variables."  
  
"No problem," Yidstie, Esteban's wing leader said. "Beta, form up on my wing,   
diamond pattern. Arm missiles and ready your laser cannons, as this could get ugly."  
  
The four Hercules peeled away from the main starfighter group, and headed   
slightly to the port side of the unknown.  
  
The only possible method Esteban had of determining his distance from the zone of   
pitch black was the way it moved in his view. Compared to his speed, he estimated a size   
approximately equal to a corvette-type configuration, with a distance from his craft of   
about half a kilometer. That would place it about five klicks away from the station. There   
was no sign of a response from it to the fighter's proximity.  
  
"Pilots, can you shine your guidance beacons at the prow of that thing? An optical   
scan could determine configuration, designation, and possibly intent."  
  
"You heard the man, Beta wing," Yidstie said. "Close in."  
  
It was standard on every fighter to have a guidance beam. It projected a nearly   
solid shaft of light down, and was meant for nighttime planetary landings. It would,   
however, work extremely well in a vacuum situation.  
  
The starfighters converged together about an estimated three hundred meters from   
the stern of the unknown event, and began working their way across the phenomenon to   
the forward prow. Four beams of light emitted from the Hercs. Four beams of light   
disintegrated fifty meters from their source.  
  
"What the hell?" Yidstie irritably remarked. The cholera in his voice gave way to   
fear. "Shit. Command, the cruiser isn't just running without exterior emissions. It's   
deploying some kind of field to block all energy emissions."  
  
"Pilots, pull out of there! We're registering an energy build-up in your vicinity!"  
  
Yidstie's craft was vaporized, instantly transforming into an expanding array of fire   
and metallic debris.  
  
Hyped-up instincts immediately erased all the poisonous effects of the alcohol still   
swirling in Esteban's system. He pulled quickly away, hitting full burners. "Mayday,   
mayday!" he screamed into his transmitter. "Energize all defense platforms now,   
command!"  
  
The Hercules shuddered suddenly, as an intense and highly concentrated source of   
electric power came dangerously close to hitting. There was no visible weaponry, but that   
didn't make it any less existent. "Pilots, get clear of that damn thing!" he heard Jason   
McNeil transmit personally.  
  
Without waiting for further authorization, Esteban activated his craft's subspace   
drive. Within two seconds, the event horizon of a subspace portal consumed the   
Hercules. There was never any chance to see what happened to the rest of his squadron.  
  
Over a thousand kilometers away, Esteban distractedly tried to work out a course   
to the nearest NTF outpost that his fuel levels could reach.  
  
---  
  
Jason McNeil watched fearfully as the last of Beta wing was destroyed by the   
hidden weapons of the corvette. "Shit. Shit. Pull the rest of our fighters back," he   
ordered Jargis.  
  
Jargis didn't hear him. He tapped away at his console's controls, an expression of   
anxious foreboding falling across his face. "Jurgis!" Jason snapped.  
  
"Sir! I'm receiving a hail from within the unknown disruption field!"  
  
Whatever response Jason had formed died instantly in his mouth. Screw this all.   
Who the hell would what to capture this shit-tip of an outpost.  
  
His thoughts shifted uncomfortably to the ETAK project present within the depot.   
Surely… no, of course not. The Shivans were vanished from the face of the cosmos.   
Nobody could want that. At least not bad enough to give away their possession of   
strategic new technologies.  
  
Could they?  
  
His crew was looking expectantly at him, waiting for an order.  
  
"Pull it up," he said, rolling his chair over to the communications system.  
  
The central monitor on Jargis's console lit up, displaying the face of a calm and   
collected Terran male. The background of the screen was plastered in hot white metal,   
with a double railing just behind the seat of the enemy commander. The only audio output   
so far was a slight chattering of voices, similar to Jason's own CC.  
  
The commander (Jason assumed that was who he was) was dressed in a slightly   
out-of-date GTVA pilot's uniform. This more than anything set Jason on the edge; as far   
as recent intelligence reports had indicated, neither the Vasudans or the Terran Alliance   
had this kind of technology. However, despite the uniform, there was nothing obsolete in   
the very modern pistol holstered to the man's belt.  
  
"What do you want?" Jason asked through half-clenched teeth.  
  
There was no hesitation in the commander's reply. "What we all want,   
Commander McNeil." How did he know Jason's name? The man smiled. "To bring   
down the tyranny of the Galactic Terran Vasudan Alliance!"  
  
This, too say the least, was unexpected. "E-Excuse me?" Jason stammered in   
incredulity.  
  
The man's smile widened, showing yellow, unhealthy teeth. "I, as Captain and   
representative of this starship, apply for acceptance to join the ranks of the Neo-Terran   
Front."  
  
"You killed one of my fighter wings, you cold-hearted bastard, and now you   
pretend to be our friends? What the fuck is your problem?"  
  
"A flaw in my vessel's automatic defense systems. Your fighters got too close,   
Commander McNeil. However, now that the flaw had been brought to my attention, you   
may rest assured that your starfighters will not be fired upon again."  
  
"You pompous-"  
  
"Commander, may I remind you of this corvette's firepower and abilities. I am   
perfectly willing to place all of this completely at your disposal. An offer you cannot   
logically pass over."  
  
Jason grimaced. Damn, but that infuriating man was right. "Submit your identity   
traits, or my depot will open fire on your vessel," he demanded.  
  
The other commander merely laughed at the threat. But, finally a second monitor   
was lit with display schematics of a corvette-sized vessel, heavily armed. Jason sighed.  
  
The Neo-Terran Front desperately need those technologies. But there had to be   
some reason behind this… some ulterior motive. There was no doubt.  
  
"Remove your cloaking field now."  
  
The man nodded and made a hand signal to some person not visible on the screen.   
"Commander!" Jay Breckenridge said suddenly. Jason looked down at the man trying and   
failing to appear menacing before rushing over to the sensor station. On Breckenridge's   
own monitor, optical sensors were displaying a large starship were the dark distortion field   
used to rest. It was the exact same as the schematics still rotating on Jargis's console. A   
single rectangular hull surrounded on two sides by a folding array of nodes that split at an   
angle in their center. On the side of the hull, the name Siren's Call was proudly displayed   
in bold letters.  
  
Jason walked calmly back to the communications console, trying not to let his   
nervousness show. "What about your uniform?" he asked. "GTVA standard."  
  
"Not quite," the man answered back. "It's a bit behind the times, I'm afraid. I   
apologize, McNeil, this was the only thing wearable that I had taken with me. I myself   
used to be a pilot for the Terran Alliance during the Great War. You could say that I'm a   
defector, although I never swore fealty at any time to the new Alliance between the   
Terrans and those cursed Vasudans."  
  
Jason waited, skeptical. *Not that there's a damn thing I can do about it if he's   
lying*, he thought.  
  
"If you don't believe me, you can check your records for an exact facial feature   
match, with an aging anticipation program running. My name is Douglas Remmington,   
I'm sure your system will confirm that. I was listed as killed in action during the Great   
War, but that turned out to be nothing more than an unfortunate error."  
  
Jason sighed, grudgingly. If this man did want to take over his depot, he doubtless   
could have done it without lying like this. "Okay, Captain Remmington, prepare for   
docking at my station. From there your ship will be boarded, and we can meet   
personally."  
  
Remmington smiled again, knowingly. "I'm afraid not, Commander. You'll use it   
as an excuse to hold me as a prisoner. I therefore must modify my terms for pledging my   
ship to the NTF armada. I must remain in the captaincy, and my crew in their positions.   
Under no circumstances will anybody but myself pilot this vessel." He paused. "Why   
don't you come onboard, and meet with me, Jason?"  
  
Jason reluctantly agreed, and closed communications channels, then turned to face   
his two present command staff. "Jargis, I want you to send out a tight-beam signal to the   
Sirius system and Admiral Bosch informing him of our current position. Breckenridge, I   
will hold my promise and meet with Captain Remmington. However, if the worst comes   
to worst, I want you to be prepared to activate this station's self-destruct measures. To   
hell with the ETAK project, I'm sure Bosch wouldn't like to see it in enemy hands."  
  
---  
  
"By God, but this is as boring as hell."  
  
"I know what you mean. But we still have to get it done."  
  
"I know that, damn it, but it still… that doesn't make it any less annoying."  
  
"Shut up. Let's see who we have here. Our first candidate is Cadet Red Jefferson.   
He was present during the asteroid maneuver disaster, and his simulation scores have been   
good."  
  
"Okay. I see several openings in the 53rd Hammerheads squadron."  
  
"Ah yes, the mop-up squadron. Dump him in there."  
  
"Gotcha."  
  
"Next… George Hadley. Moderate scores in sims, nothing extraordinary, but a   
solid pilot."  
  
"What about the Raptors? Did his bombing sims perform well?"  
  
"Better than average, actually."  
  
"Okay, the Raptors it is. Have fun piloting buckets, 'fella." Laughter.  
  
"This is unusual. A piloting instructor, Janice Fargo, is applying for readmission   
into the fighter corps."  
  
"Really? If I remember, you have to be a pretty fair pilot to be assigned a teaching   
role."  
  
"Correct."  
  
"Let's assign her to the 107th Ravens. They're a good unit, they'll make good use   
of her skills."  
  
"Next on the roster there's Richard McKnight. Abnormally high sim scores…"  
  
"Holy shit. I haven't ever seen scores that high! Look, his instructor's   
recommended him for wing command straight out of school."  
  
"You haven't seen scores that high because you've only been working this duty for   
six months now."  
  
"Yeah, I know. But it's like McKnight has already been through the training   
program before."  
  
"Whatever. Let's give him command of his wing, but in the 53rd Hammerheads."  
  
"Mop-up squadron?  
  
"Yeah. He'll cope, I bet. Next, there's Jason Bruner…"  
  
---  
  
For Richard McKnight and the rest of the Cadets, that training simulation had been   
their last. As Fargo had promised the low performers were summarily dismissed from the   
fighter pilot program, but encouraged to reapply to the GTVA military for a Naval   
commission or soldiering tour.  
  
Richard never got another chance to talk with his fellow Cadets. By the time the   
simulation pods snapped open, he was already being ushered out and reassigned to new   
quarters on the GTD Aquitaine. He only caught one last glimpse of everybody, including   
a shaken George Hadley and a neutral-looking Red Jefferson before the lift doors were   
silently closed.  
  
Richard couldn't understand Jefferson. When he had talked to him after the   
asteroid field blunder, Red had seemed eager to begin a blackmailing campaign. But in the   
dogfight, he hadn't given away Richard's plot of detonating a bomb amidst the encroaching   
starfighter fleet. Red could have ruined it all right there, without any effort. Instead, his   
Serapis had pulled silently and gently away from the main engagement, resigning the   
others to their deaths.  
  
It hadn't taken him long to find his shared quarters onboard the Aquitaine. All   
rooms were clearly marked, and the desk-jockeys of the floor had been quite happy to give   
out final room assignments. His bunk looked exactly as he had anticipated it to. There   
were four beds in the room, but none of the other occupants were present when Richard   
arrived. Standard onboard Terran-design capital ships for low-ranking personnel. For   
efficiency's sake, this small undecorated five meter square space would have to house eight   
crewers. Four would sleep at a time, then as soon as the shift siren sounded, those four   
would return to their duties and the other four would be allowed entrance to the room.  
  
To cope with the lack of decent solitude or privacy, many of the officers would   
look to other means of recreation to sustain their egos and hone their personalities.   
Gambling was the most popular past-time onboard the Aquitaine, as many underpaid grunt   
workers sought to increase their compensation by removing it from the hands of others.   
Drinking had been outlawed by the GTVA Policies Council, so naturally illegal stills   
abounded in spite of the enormous threats facing those who got caught. Anyone found to   
be drinking any form of alcohol would have a severe reprimand entered in their records,   
curtailing any current hopes of promotion. For those who actually produced the alcohol,   
they were subject to court-martials (the only exception being those people defined as   
"indispensable" by the courts).  
  
For the majority of the Aquitaine's crew of 10,000, however, the regulations were   
obeyed. Richard was fortunate enough to count himself among their ranks. Gambling,   
though, had not been outlawed so Richard enjoyed more than his fair share of it on the   
night he was first assigned to his quarters. He had stayed up late after losing a good   
portion of his current pay, and had finally broke even. The lack of sleep was more readily   
apparent on his features when his comm system buzzed at exactly 0500.  
  
Richard groaned, and rolled over on his mattress. His bunkmates started to stir.   
After reporting back to the living quarters deck, he had not had a chance to be introduced   
to them. His hand reached out slowly, and tapped the dimly glowing control that would   
play the waiting message.  
  
"To all new pilots onboard the GTD Aquitaine, I would like to welcome you," a   
gruff voice said loudly enough to wake his groggy bunkmates. "… to the finest ship that   
the Galactic Terran-Vasudan Alliance has to offer. You join an elite crew numbering over   
ten thousand, as we patrol the vastness of space seeking peace for tomorrow, and glory   
for today!" the voice mindlessly recited the motto of the GTVA 3rd Fleet.  
  
"As some of you may be aware, we have had to push your training schedules   
slightly faster than normal due to the insurrection in the central systems. You doubtless   
know by now of the ambitions of the Neo-Terran Front, and the threat they serve the peace   
that exists today. They must be stopped at any cost, and as thus, Rear Admiral Julius   
Petrarch, the commander of this mighty vessel, has authorized the immediate deployment of   
all combat-capable flight wings once we reach the contested Deneb system."  
  
"Among those groups now being readied to sortie are the pilots and crew of the   
107th Ravens, the 34th Hellcats, the 53rd Hammerheads, the 242nd Suicide Kings, and   
the 67th Cyclones. This message should be reaching those pilots and those pilots only,   
who are to report to their briefing rooms."   
  
---  
  
And that's all, folks. Unless people start really bugging me to, I don't think this  
one's ever going to get finished. If, however, on the off-chance one of you would like  
to continue this adaptation, gimme an e-mail, and I'll send you some of the notes I have  
on the plotline and characters.  
  
Tristan Palmgren -- charpalm@mediaone.net 


End file.
